


Conversations Season 4

by aussieokie



Category: The Blacklist
Genre: Gen, Keenler - Freeform, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8151404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussieokie/pseuds/aussieokie
Summary: Conversations mainly with Ressler and Keen through the Season 4 episodes. They will be one shots and scene additions and expansions that fit in with the episodes. Because there is always room to add and edit scenes to give us more Keenler! As usual, my heart leans to Keenler and my POV is with Ressler.





	1. Elizabeth Keen is Alive

_So we begin Season 4, after the LONG hiatus. This Conversations starts a new year, a new story, and as usual I'll be adding and expanding on existing scenes (and as a side note, where I went in Conversations 3 has no bearing on where I pick up S4. It's a new story this year.)_

_And in starting my Conversations 4, I had previously written a one shot for the Ressler Prompts that has Ressler's phone call with Red where he learns Liz is alive. And so, at the risk of repeating myself, I want to insert that in here, as a 'this is where we are at' point in starting this new season of Conversations, which takes place right before 401._

* * *

Ressler sits at his desk, reflecting on the events of the day. After holding Reddington at gunpoint, he'd left the criminal and his entourage, making his way back to the Post Office. Even while his gun had been held on Red, hand shaking on the pistol grip, part of him had wanted Red to kill Kirk. He was ready and willing to let Reddington take a life to avenge another. The entire drive back to work had been one of conflict and reflection. On returning, the war room was quiet and he'd gone straight to his office. And sat. And thought. He'd crossed a line. A very big line. One he would not allow himself to cross again.

His phone rings, startling him out of his thoughts. Looking at the caller ID he gives a soft groan and then answers, gearing himself up for another round with Reddington. As if their Mexican standoff at the courthouse today hadn't been enough.

"Reddington, what do you want?" Ressler isn't angry or annoyed. Just resigned to the fact that he's more like the criminal than he cares to admit.

"Donald," Reddington answers and something in the man's voice makes Ressler lean forward in his office chair.

"What is it?" Ressler asks. Something is wrong.

"Elizabeth…" Reddington stops, and at the crack in the man's voice, Ressler has the overwhelming sense he's about to hear a gunshot through the phone as Reddington ends it all with a bullet to his brain. Because it's been too much for the criminal to bear. And Ressler wouldn't blame the man one bit for taking himself out of the mix. And in an odd sort of way, it would be fitting if he were the one to hear the man's final word. His final breath. His death.

Head dipping, he speaks quietly to the man. "Reddington, you-"

"Donald. Elizabeth is alive."

Ressler's head shoots upward.

At Ressler's audible gasp, Reddington continues, voice taut. "Her death was an elaborate hoax in order to extricate her and her child from this life." He stops, then continues. "From… my life." Every word he speaks exudes pain.

Ressler can't say a word as his own feelings run the entire gamut. Shock. Disbelief. Bewilderment. Awe. Relief. Where one emotion ends and the other begins is fuzzy, as another emotion comes to the fore – that of compassion toward the man he is listening to.

Red continues. "It was perpetrated by one whom I would never have deemed capable of such intentional deception." Now there is a tightness in the criminal's voice that Ressler has never heard before. It takes a few moments before he recognizes it. Barely controlled fury. Reddington has been betrayed.

It occurs to him that they all have.

"Donald, there's more. Kirk has taken her, and Tom and Agnes are both missing. I need you here in Cuba. But wait until I get more information."

It takes a moment to realize Reddington has hung up as he sits gazing into nothing, phone still to his ear. How can Liz be alive? He had mourned her! Thoughts tumbling over each other, he staggers to his feet, drops his phone to his desk and stands a moment.

Liz is alive. And with that news, the sickening reality hits him even harder. He'd almost let Reddington kill an innocent man today. Seeking revenge for a death that never occurred. He would have participated in the killing of a man who was in no way responsible for the death of Elizabeth Keen.

"Shit..." Ressler steps away from his desk and the walk from his office is a blur, but he finds himself outside Cooper's office, feeling like he's about to implode. He hesitates, then slowly walks into Cooper's office, trying to digest it all. He won't sit down, despite his boss encouraging him to.

As he talks to Cooper, explaining how he had almost let Reddington kill a man, he falters, questioning his ethics. His morals. Everything he's held dear. And finally trusting his voice to give Cooper the news that he's just been hit with, he slowly looks to his boss.

"And Liz. She's alive."

Cooper's look shadows what Ressler had felt. He sees the emotions fly across the man's features in quick succession before he asks one word.

"How?"

Exactly what Ressler needs to know.

Cooper steps back, leaning against his desk. "We buried her. I gave her eulogy..." He looks to Ressler again. "And she's really-"

"Yes."

Cooper is still shaking his head. "What do we need to do? Where is she?"

"Cuba somewhere. Reddington wants me there."

Cooper nods, still taking in the news. "Of course. Whatever you need to do, I'll back you," he replies, looking at the haggard agent before him before placing his hand on Ressler's shoulder. "Come on, sit down."

And this time, Ressler accepts the offer, dropping into the chair as Cooper makes them both a stiff drink. Turning, he hands a whiskey to Ressler before resuming his own place behind his desk. The two men sip in silence, each processing what they've heard before Cooper looks to Ressler again.

"Don, I get the distinct impression that what happened with Reddington this afternoon has affected you more than the fact Elizabeth is alive and has betrayed all of us."

Ressler leans forward, deposits the empty glass on the desk before him and looks to the side, dropping his eyes. Both things are weighing on his mind, but in time honored response where bad news overrides good news – because Liz being alive IS good news - Cooper is correct. "I was seeking vengeance for a murder that never happened."

"All of us believed it had happened."

"Doesn't matter though. I was still ready to let Reddington kill a man in cold blood." He stands, turns and runs his hand across the back of his neck. "What does that say about me?"

Cooper rises to his feet, takes both empty glasses and refills them. "It says that you cared enough for another to want to do something about her death."

Ressler takes the offered whiskey, drops back into the chair and looks up at Cooper. "That doesn't help."

Cooper gives him a small smile, pats him on the shoulder, takes a sip of his own drink and regards Ressler. "Perhaps not. Earlier this afternoon, Reddington sat right where you are in this office. A broken man, bereft without Elizabeth who had come to say goodbye. He wasn't only offering his farewells to me personally, or the Bureau. He was saying goodbye to life."

Ressler stops twirling his glass in his fingers and looks at Cooper. "He was suicidal. I got that impression loud and clear also."

"Exactly. So what I'm saying, Don, is that I believe he wanted you to be the one to pull that trigger and end it for him. But he knows you, and knew the stakes had to be high for you to do that. He pushed every button you had, hoping you'd kill him in the process." He sighs, shifts position against his desk and continues. "But it was a no win situation for you. Kill him, or let another man be killed."

Ressler stands again, pacing. "Yeah well, I didn't pull the trigger. I had my gun sight on the back of his head, and I couldn't pull the trigger."

"No, you couldn't. Because you're not going to kill a man in cold blood. Reddington can and has done so too many times to count. And in a suicidal desire may have wanted you to be the one to end his life, but you can't. It's not who you are. And sometimes the best course of action is no action at all."

Ressler shakes his head. "So I had the wrong intention yet still did the right thing. Score one for the boy scout," he scowls.

"Don't sell yourself short. I would have done exactly what you did out there today. You're a good man, and when dealing with someone like Reddington morals can be pushed to the limit. But you prevailed and were not the one who was going to pull the trigger, and I admire you for that." Cooper pauses as Ressler sits down at the desk again. "And I know Elizabeth admires that in you a great deal," he adds quietly.

Ressler groans, leans back and shakes his head. "Liz…" He looks to the side, through Coopers windows to the unseen war room below. And while still unsure if he can put his feelings into words where Liz's return is concerned, he forges on anyway. "I can't believe she did this. Even for Agnes, I can't believe she felt it necessary to…to..." he stops, unable to voice it.

"That she felt it necessary to lie to us, betray every one of us and let us mourn her passing with no regard to our feelings," Cooper finishes. "Had things really reached that point?"

"I didn't realize they had. If she'd only talked to us…" Ressler tells his boss quietly, knowing full well why she hadn't. She would have only confided this to Tom. If she'd only talked to him...

Cooper's line of thought is obviously following the same track. "So Tom Keen knew. All this time, waltzing in here to help find the men responsible for her death, and he knew."

"Son of a bitch."

Cooper nods. "Thank you for not saying 'I told you so'."

Ressler can't hide the small scowl. "Oh, I'm saying it. You just can't hear me."

Cooper nods, knowing he deserved that one. "We'll have to deal with Tom Keen later, but first, we need to find them."

Ressler regards his boss. There is only one person he is interested in finding. "Put me on a plane and get me in the air. At least I can be on my way to Cuba while Reddington figures out where Kirk is holding her."

"I wish it were that easy. But the Bureau has no jurisdiction in-"

Ressler rises to his feet, resuming his pacing. "Screw jurisdiction. Here, take this if it helps," he tells Cooper, unhooking his badge from his belt, "and just let me go."

'Don, if it were that simple, I'd be booking two tickets and joining you. We can't do it this way. We need Reddington's intel first, and then I need to have a talk with Panabaker. We need to do this the right way."

"I know," Ressler sighs, stopping and facing his boss. "But the second we find a way with Panabaker, you get me on that plane."

"Both of you. I'll have Samar join you to find Liz."

Ressler turns and shakes his head. "I wouldn't count on it. She won't take this well."

Cooper watches Ressler pace across the small confines of his office. "Tell me something. Why aren't you angry at Liz? Or is that something else you're just not saying?"

He's been asking himself exactly that for a while now. With feelings tumbling over each other the last hour, it's been hard to sort them out and make sense of any of it. "I may be angry after I see she's safe, but for now, I just need to find her. I have a job to do."

Cooper pauses before replying, watching his lead agent. "A word of advice, Don."

Ressler stops, looks to Cooper and waits. Advice is actually welcome, right about now. "And what would that be?"

"When you find her, as I know you will, follow your instincts. Don't just make it about the job. Not everything is just about doing your job."

Ressler licks his bottom lip, and looks away. His boss knows him better than he thinks he does. Is he really that transparent where Liz is concerned? He stands at the window, looking down into the war room. And for the first time, allows his eyes to wander back to their office. To where he'd stood and picked up her foot massager the night of her funeral, knowing she'd never use it again.

"Why don't you head home for a few hours and get some rest. You look beat," Cooper offers, making no move to rise up off his desk.

Rest? There is no way his brain can shut down enough to sleep. "I will if you will," he tells his boss, not turning from the window. Because he knows his boss has been sleeping in his office, and all but living at the Post Office. Realizing he probably shouldn't have said that out loud either, he turns, "Sorry, didn't mean to-" but pauses, surprised to see Cooper smiling.

Cooper waves him off, rising to find the blankets from a filing cabinet drawer. "This old couch here is very comfortable, I'll have you know."

Ressler is about to tell him he'll just shower and grab some sleep on a downstairs cot when he changes his mind. "Yeah, I'll head home. Gotta pack a bag for wherever I end up in Cuba." He doesn't know if and when he'll be going, but he'll damn well be ready at a moment's notice when they get the word.

"Sounds like a plan. Get some rest, Don. Oh, and pack casual clothing, just in case we need to send you down there under cover," Cooper adds.

Ressler nods, bids Cooper goodnight and heads down to his office. He looks to Liz's desk, because even while she was dead, it was always Liz's desk in his heart. He's stopped himself every time he'd remembered her smiling or sitting on the edge of his desk. But now he allows those memories to come forth, wondering when he will see her again.

He smiles, looking at the empty desk and unoccupied chair. There is also something else he needs to bring from his apartment, and place back under her desk for her feet.

###

Apparently, he's not ready to go home and pack his bag just yet though, and before he even questions it, he's heading somewhere else. A place he had visited late in the night following her funeral. The fact he'd scaled the fence into the cemetery that night had seemed a mere hindrance rather than breaking and entering as he'd stood at her grave.

As it does tonight. Parking down from one of the side gates, he exits the car, looks around into the still night and once again, grabs hold of the iron railings and hops over onto the grass below. Walking under the dark trees, he doesn't need to use his phone to light his way. There is sufficient moonlight. An owl hoots off to his right, and his foot steps leave a trail in the dewy grass behind him.

Her gravestone is ahead and entering the clearing, he steps silently past the pale gravestones in the moonlight, before he arrives in front of hers. In the weeks since he's been here, the grass has made great strides in its regrowth. Gone is the dirt he'd previously knelt and run his hands through. His hand rests on the gravestone, reading the inscription. The words that had stabbed his heart previously now are hollow. Because there is no Elizabeth Keen lying in eternal rest at his feet.

"Liz...why?"

He can't answer that one, nor can she just yet. But he will ask her, even though he already knows the answer for the most part. If things had got to that point, as Cooper had asked, what must it have been like for her to take such drastic measures? To walk away from everyone and everything she held dear, to escape the life she was leading. He drops to his knees in the wet grass, leaning against the granite headstone.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. Because he should have been there more. Should have talked to her more and understood the frame of mind she'd been in. His index finger traces the outline of her name, and he finds himself blinking back tears. But these are not heartbroken tears of loss, as they were weeks ago. Now the tears that roll down his cheeks are full of regret, but mostly relief. She is not lost to him. His head rises and he takes in the starlit night above him, giving silent thanks to the One above that she still walks upon this earth.

He straightens, rises to his feet and looks down at the empty grave. "I will find you. And I'll be there more for you, Liz. I promise you that." His words are hushed in the still night, as he brushes his cheeks with his hands, sniffs and turns away from the stone. Because she isn't there. She's somewhere in Cuba and he's promised he will find her. Because he's not leaving without her this time.

###

A few hours later he's back at the Post Office, bag ready beside his desk even though there is still no word from Reddington. Standing above the war room outside his bosses office, Ressler exhales deeply as the elevator doors open below him. The last person he really wants to have this conversation with has just entered the war room. He watches as Samar exits the yellow elevator a little after 7am, making her way to her desk. Cooper exits his office right behind him. Neither man has slept more than an hour at most, Ressler having finally left the cemetery around 3:00am.

"Show time," Cooper says softly to Ressler, looking at who has arrived. He wastes no time, nor does he give Ressler a moment to decide to go tell her himself. "Agent Navabi. A moment, please?" he calls down.

Placing her shoulder bag in her drawer, Samar nods and makes her way up the metal staircase. She looks questioningly to Ressler but he remains impassive before following her silently into Cooper's office, closing the door behind the three of them. Cooper sits at his desk. Folding his arms Ressler stands behind Samar and to the side.

"Is there a problem?" Samar's eyes flit from Cooper to Ressler, then back to their boss.

Cooper's eyes slide from her and meet Ressler's before returning to Samar. You could definitely call this a problem. "Sit, please," he offers, motioning to the chair without answering her question.

"I'll stand, if that's okay," she replies, and Ressler can hear the tension in her voice as if preparing for a fight. But nothing is going to prepare her for this.

"Agent Navabi… Samar… there is no easy way to hear this, so I'll just come right out with it," Cooper tells her, folding his hands in front of him and leaning forward in his chair. "Elizabeth Keen is alive."

From his position behind her, Ressler sees the sudden drop in her posture. The shock wave as it hits her, the head tilt to the side before she recovers, stands tall again and speaks.

"Alive? How is that possible?" she asks, her words guarded and tense.

Ressler steps forward, and she turns to him as he takes up the question. "She faked her death. Made it look like she'd died in childbirth, but she didn't. The doctor was in on it." And he's speaking the words, and yet even now it doesn't seem possible this is happening, because up until 10 hours ago he'd thought her dead for weeks.

"She lied to us? To Reddington?" Samar asks, and Ressler nods. "But that day on the road, you saw her dead," she adds, turning more fully to Ressler, her voice raised in challenge.

"I did," Ressler answers, his mind filled with that awful scene again. Of her lying cold and pale with a distraught Reddington holding her hands. Kissing her forehead. Of the man breaking down and collapsing at his car, and him taking a distressed Samar in his arms as she'd sobbed. And all the while he himself had been screaming on the inside, barely keeping it together. "It was a hoax. She only appeared to be dead."

Samar straightens and the chill in her voice is unmistakable. "I see."

Ressler nods, his own fatigue in stark contrast with the spark in Samar's eyes before she turns to Cooper again.

"So what now? She comes back to work and we just go on as if nothing has happened?"

Cooper leans back in his chair. "I don't think that's possible," he replies, sighing as he shakes his head. "For two reasons. The first being that we don't know exactly where she is."

Ressler speaks up again, offering up the information they currently have. "She's in Cuba." He hesitates, drops his eyes and then continues. "But Alexander Kirk found her and has taken her. Tom and Agnes are missing."

"Taken her? What does Kirk want with her?"

"That, we don't know," Cooper tells her. "So far we are the only ones here who are aware of this turn of events. But that will change in the next hour or so, as we inform the Bureau of Agent Keen's return," Cooper tells her calmly, yet there is no hiding the disbelief tinged with frustration. He's in a difficult position. They all are.

"This is all we have, until we hear more from Reddington," Ressler adds, stopping as Samar's phone lights up with a text. She hesitates, quickly reads it and looks to Cooper.

"Sorry, but it's Aram. He's going to be a little late. It's not my place to say but I think he needs to hear this sooner, rather than later. May I let him know of the miraculous resurrection of Liz?"

The tone in her voice is calculating, almost mocking, but Cooper ignores it for now. "I'll call him in a moment, before he gets here."

"Very well. Will that be all?" she asks, looking to Cooper then Ressler. Cooper nods, effectively dismissing her from his office. Without a glance to either of them, she strides from the office. Both men see the clenched fists at her side.

Ressler leans against the wall as she exits, shoves his hands in his pockets and looks to his boss. "One down, about thirty to go."

Cooper allows himself a soft chuckle. "Yes, and they're all going to take it in different ways. And you were right about how Agent Navabi would react, but I'm sure it will pass. Aram will be a wide eyed puppy, unable to digest it at first, but then jump around in joy. To be honest, I myself am torn. I'm not sure if I want to hug Elizabeth or tear strips off her for putting us through the last few weeks."

Ressler knows exactly how he feels.

Cooper shakes his head, takes his phone from his pocket and dials a number. "Aram. Harold Cooper."

Leaving the office to let Cooper make his phone call, Ressler mentally prepares himself for the disgust Samar is sure to be exuding. But he's in luck as she's nowhere in sight as he heads down the stairs to his office. Once again, he finds himself standing at Liz's desk just as he'd done a few hours ago in the middle of the night. He checks his phone, knowing full well he hasn't missed a call from Reddington, but can't stop himself from checking.

A few minutes later he's out by Aram's desk as the yellow elevator door opens, revealing the IT guru pushing his bicycle. Almost to his relief, Samar is at the elevator to meet Aram and deflect his endless questions. Ressler only half hears Samar's clipped responses to Aram, just waiting for the questions to come his way. Yet still his mind is elsewhere. He can't head for locations unknown in Cuba just yet. But the waiting overnight has shown him clearly where his path lies.

He will find Liz, take hold of her and hug her tight.

And never let her go again.


	2. Cuba

Ressler has lost count of how many times he's sat on Reddington's jet with the sole purpose of landing somewhere to do the criminal's bidding. To be his Government boots on the ground, so to speak. The one who works above the law, while Red's usual cohorts are a little less concerned about the law and far more interested in just getting the job done. He should feel some pride in the fact that Red still deems him a necessary part of his entourage, but right now all he feels is frustration. This is taking too long. Sure, Red came through with the intel, and really, was there ever any doubt he'd know more than half of the upper echelons of the government? Specifically, who the CIA were in bed with. And on that reveal, Panabaker had reluctantly given the go ahead.

He's finally on his way to Cuba but it's been almost 16 hours since he heard Liz was alive. Alive and kidnapped by Alexander Kirk. He can't spend too long wondering on the man's motive though. That will come later, after he's found Liz. First order of business is to call Reddington when he lands and get the latest update. But right now all he can see is the ocean some 35,000 feet below him, and he just wants this over with and to get his feet back on terra firma.

With a half-eaten sandwich of some nationality he can't even begin to pronounce on the tray in front of him, he nods and thanks the stewardess as she asks if he's done with his meal. As she picks up the tray, he catches a whiff of her perfume, and the view down her blouse that she's parading in front of his nose. It's not that he's looking, it's more that she's leaning provocatively and he can't get out of the way. And while resisting the urge to ask 'seriously?' of her, he turns to take in the view out the small window again, dismissing her advances.

"If there is anything else you need, you know where to find me," she oozes, and not for the first time this flight, Ressler wonders where Reddington found THIS one.

"I'm fine, thanks," he nods to her, before continuing his study of the ocean waves far below. Truth be told, the ocean is so far below it's more than a little concerting and he draws his gaze back inside the jet. "Actually, how much longer?" he asks, knowing she'll be back in mere seconds to regale her wares at him with the answer.

"Let me check with the captain," she tells him, before slinking off to the cockpit. By his watch it should be about 50 minutes, but perhaps a tail wind has sped that up. He turns back to the dark haired woman as she leans over him again, this time keeping his head tilted back and his gaze firmly on her heavily made up eyes.

"The captain will start his descent in 15 minutes, and we'll be on the ground 40 minutes from now," she purrs, lingering over him. "So buckle up," she smiles, "unless, of course, you like a bumpy ride."

"Thanks," he tells her, once again backing up from her and finding the ocean fascinating below him. And he can't stop himself as she heads back to the front of the plane, but sets the timer on his phone, counting down the minutes until they land. The sooner he can get off this plane and away from Elvira, the better.

###

He hadn't expected Reddington to meet him, having assumed he was off somewhere hunting down a kidnapper. So it's with some surprise as he exits the plane into the bright sun of the afternoon that he spies the criminal stepping out of the car parked near the runway. Dembe holds open the door as Red exits and walks toward him. And despite their altercation yesterday, Ressler knows the criminal, and is just waiting for it. Five...four...three...

"Donald! Love the shorts."

Reddington can be so predictable at times. A quality the criminal would scoff at, but there it is. Deciding his best course of action is to ignore the jab, Ressler stops a few feet from the man. "What have you heard? Anything new?"

Red's demeanor changes, getting back to the business at hand. "Nothing new, I'm afraid. While I follow up on another lead, I still need you to set up the meeting with Esteban. He's a little touchy where I'm concerned. You may have a better job at talking nice to him, since you're on the CIA side of the fence he's rather familiar with."

The mere mention that he's even close to the CIA and its nest of vipers raises Ressler's hackles, but he remains composed. "Yeah, I have the location. Café Aventura, across from the National Museum."

"Excellent. Donald, I don't need to tell you to be careful, do I?" Reddington asks, adjusting his hat against the glare of the sun.

Ressler doesn't answer that. Of course he doesn't need to tell him.

"Emilio will drive you into town. I must be off. I'll be in touch, Donald," Reddington adds, motioning to the car off to their left. With a nod, Red climbs back in the car and for the first time Ressler notices the thin woman in the back of the car. Hands folded in her lap against her soft lavender suit, face drawn, Ressler barely recognizes Mr Kaplan as the strong woman he's previously seen. Red had been betrayed. Ressler now surmises the source.

Reddington's car pulls away from the plane, making its way toward the exit gate of the small airfield. Picking up his duffel bag, Ressler walks toward the waiting car and the driver, Emilio. As the harsh sun beats down on his head, he begins to think he should have added a hat to his casual tourist look. And a gun. But that would definitely blow the illusion out the water.

###

In comparison to the bright sunlight the cafe is darker inside, but any desire that it be cooler is quickly squashed as he sits at a small table. As the table rocks despite his effort to steady it, he places his order with the waitress for his egg coffee. He should have looked up what egg coffee is, because the beverage that arrives resembles a pudding rather than a drink. Wrinkling his nose at it, he doesn't have any time to contemplate what it tastes like as a man sits before him. His contact, he assumes as he complains about the heat and weird coffee as per the arranged signal. Behind him, two diners leave their meals half eaten. As Cooper would say, it's show time. His contact says nothing. Ressler waits for the gun in his back and a voice telling him to move slowly. Instead he gets a black hood thrown over his head. He's well aware it's the way these underworld sorts do business when organizing meetings. And while he doesn't fight, not resisting goes against every inch of his being. Still, his fists clench at the suffocating darkness as he's pulled roughly to his feet.

And there it is. The unmistakable feel of a gun barrel pressed into his back. He can only assume they will keep him alive long enough to talk to Esteban. It will be after he's spoken to the man that the plan may get a little fuzzy.

"Alright, I'm movin' here," he tells them, the fabric feeling hot and moist against his mouth. Unable to see where he's going, he bumps roughly into a chair, hearing it scrape across the tiled floor. His attempt to steer through the unseen tables and chairs isn't successful as he hits a table with his left thigh. The wound has long since healed but a direct hit on it still feels uncomfortable. He grimaces, and the urge to rip of the hood is paramount. He steadies his hands, places them in front of him and feels his way through the restaurant.

He's pushed outside into an alley, he assumes, due to the relative shade on his arms in the enclosed space. A car door opens and he's manhandled into the back, striking his head on the unseen frame. Cursing at the blow on his head, he hisses as he finds the back seat. Still the men remain silent. Perhaps they don't speak English, he wonders, but some activities don't need words. He closes his eyes under the hood, not so much to block out any view because he can't see a thing, but more in an attempt to enhance his other senses, despite the throbbing on the left side of his head.

To his left, the car door opens and one of the men slides in beside him as the odor of stale tobacco and sweat permeates the vehicle. The gun barrel jabs into his left side, effectively keeping him right where he's at as the driver climbs in and starts the car. Ressler settles in and tracks the movement of the vehicle. They turn left out of the alley, that much is obvious, and the sounds of the street are louder outside the car. Keeping his eyes closed, he concentrates. He counts evenly, memorizing the directions and length of each street between turns. He doesn't think about Liz, or Reddington or anything else. He only counts, notes which way his body slightly leans to get which direction they turn, and listens to the muted sounds outside the car. He might not be able to see, but he's making a mental map of where he's going.

Some time later the car stops, the sounds of gates opening reaches his ears, and again the car moves slowly. His captors have remained silent, something he's grateful of as it's helped him concentrate on his surroundings. As the car stops again, the driver shuts off the engine. A moment later his door is opened and a rough hand is around his right bicep, dragging him out of the car. But still he's aware of his surroundings. There is no sun on him. Yet they are outside as the breeze is refreshing on his body. Perhaps a covered courtyard. In the distance, a train horn sounds long and low and beyond that, he's sure he can hear the faint sound of ocean waves.

He takes it all in as he's led roughly inside a building. The smell hits him immediately, that of mold, blood, and human waste. Water is dripping either side of him as their way leads downward over a roughly bricked floor, leaving the sunlight behind. A wail comes from further ahead and he can't tell if it's from a man or woman. What the hell is this place, he wonders, senses fully alert as he's led further into what can only be a dungeon.

The hand on his right arm yanks him to a halt as the clank of chains and creak of a door fills the air. The hood that he's almost grown accustomed to is pulled roughly from his head as he's shoved into the cell, the dim light almost feeling bright after the prolonged darkness. As the door slams shut he peers through the bars, but can see very little in the dark hallway. Surveying his small cell his eyes dart everywhere, taking in the dark brick walls tinted with black moss.

In hushed tones, he talks to the woman in the cell across from him as she tells him of her family who will most certainly be killed down here. He's been so sheltered, living in comfort in his country, while others are oppressed, tortured and slaughtered in countries such as this. It's a sobering thought, and given the chance, something he feels the need to put an end to. But his thoughts are cut short at the sound of a door opening at the far end of the hall, and a strange human clicking noise.

The woman hisses for him to be quiet, and he waits, listening to the clicking sound as Esteban approaches.

###

Thirty minutes later he's standing on a vacant road as Esteban's goons drive off, having deposited him outside the city. Despite the cloak and dagger and clandestine meeting in a dungeon, the meeting with Esteban had gone better than he could have hoped for. And he's still alive. Always a bonus. His mission accomplished and the meeting set with Reddington, still his distaste for the blind man was palpable as he'd stood that close to him in the dungeon. Reddington is almost a saint compared to this scum of the earth.

With nothing better to do as the sun beats down on him, making his scalp sweat, he begins his trek into town, fishing his phone out of his pocket as he does so.

"Reddington?" he asks, as the phone is answered on the other end.

"It is Dembe. Raymond is talking with Esteban as we speak. He said for you to meet him at your initial location at your earliest convenience," comes the quiet man's reply.

"Right. Okay, I'll be there just as soon as I can hail a cab," he replies turning to scan the street. Finding a cab out here isn't going to be easy. And really, couldn't Reddington send good old Emilio out here? But he doesn't complain. He hangs up and walks in the sun, again berating himself for not thinking of a hat. At least he'll get a tan. Or a sunburn, more likely.

And as he walks, he recalls the woman in the cell across from him and her family who are to be killed. His dislike for Esteban grows even more with every step he takes.

###

Having witnessed Reddington and Esteban meeting to get the information on where Kirk is, Ressler stands in the Cafe Ventura again as Reddington heads for the exit. The criminal has just made his view of Ressler's by the book and lawful methods very clear. Eloquently clear. But he will not let Reddington dismiss him like this. He came to find Liz, and he's damn sure he's not going anywhere just yet.

And nor is Esteban. That much he's sure of. The dirt ball is not getting away with this now that they have Kirk's whereabouts from him. He's served his purpose. It occurs to him he's been around Reddington too long as the criminal makes his farewell.

"Yes, in order to save Elizabeth, I made a deal with the devil of the day. _I_ did. You didn't. If you have a problem with that, you've got 12 hours before his ship leaves to do something about it. Otherwise, safe travels home, Donald."

Oh, he has a problem with that. He absolutely has a problem with that. This scum is going to get away Scot-free, bound for destinations unknown where he will procure another old building in which to imprison people and continue his tyranny. Watching Reddington drive off through the window, he scowls, clenches his fist and exhales heavily. He's got 12 hours, and he's going to make them count. The waitress is clearing the table beside him as he turns to her.

"Speak English?" he asks her.

"Yes, little bit. Yes," she replies as she smiles at him.

"I need to rent a car," he tells her, but sees the confusion in her eyes.

"Rent?"

Ressler smiles, and tries again. "I need a car to drive for a few hours. Where could I get one?"

"Aaahh! You are friend of Mr Raymond. You need automobile! Come, come," she motions, leading him to the back of the restaurant. He wouldn't call Reddington a friend at this moment, but he's not going to argue the point. As he steps into the alley, the feeling of deja vu is overwhelming, only this time he can see clearly where he's standing. The woman is pointing to an old vehicle parked in the shade. It looks serviceable. Old, as all the cars here are, but serviceable. He's not sure if it's her car or not, but as he turns to her she's proudly holding up an old set of car keys to him.

"You take. You drive," she tells him, smiling broadly.

"Thank you," he tells her, retrieving the keys from her outstretched hand. "I'll have it back to you later tonight, okay?"

"Yes, is okay. You go. You drive," she encourages, pointing to the car.

He nods, walks to the car and climbs in. It's an old manual transmission, but in surprisingly good condition. As he pulls out of the alley, the woman is waving to him. He gives her a smile and a nod, but he's already concentrating. Pulling up the mental map in his head, he turns left out of the alley and begins to count. Steadily and evenly, in exactly the same pace he had counted before. He turns right at the next turn, resets his internal counter and begins again, counting until the next turn. And so he makes his way through the city, following the map he has inside his head.

As he leaves the crowded streets and city behind, he's on a familiar road. The one he'd walked into town on. He's in the right place. And counting and following the internal map he crosses a railway track near the ocean before he sees a small town ahead. And looming over everything, the unmistakable dark building that can only be the dungeon he met Esteban in.

"Gotcha," he whispers, pulling into the town, parking and taking in the sight of the dark brick building at the end of the street. Exiting the car, he scans the street, finding what he's looking for. The payphone is old, but like the car is thankfully still working. After a panic of hunting through his pockets for a coin, he finds one, deposits it in the slot and dials a number. The number he'd looked up while walking back into town. The number that would send the authorities to this location and bring this bastard down for working with the Americans.

An hour later the sun has set as he stands on the street, sipping on a coke as he leans against a stucco wall. A light sprinkle of rain is falling, though it does nothing to cool the night and only accentuates the humidity. It's quiet, but the night air is suddenly broken by the sounds of sirens. From behind him, the street is filled with red and blue lights. The cavalry have arrived. Screaming down the street, they surround the citadel before a dozen armed men swarm through the front gates. The commotion has stirred up the locals and a crowd gathers. He joins them, just a nameless face in the throng of onlookers.

Moments later, the authorities bring out the man himself. Esteban doesn't look so big now, held either side by armed men as they deposit him in a vehicle. His telltale clicking is silent, because he doesn't need to find his way now. It's been decided for him. Ressler reaches for his phone as it rings, answering his bosses' call.

Panabaker is with Cooper and he hears her loud and clear as he informs Cooper of what's going on. She's angry. But Ressler doesn't care too much about that right now as he watches disheveled women being brought out into the night air. The woman he spoke briefly with in the cell is there, along with dirty, scared men. And the most sickening of all, his stomach churns as children are led out, their eyes wide and afraid.

Panabaker is still dishing it out to him in his ear, but he takes it, standing among spectators as the light rain falls. More crying prisoners are brought out while Esteban is driven away. Panabaker is not seeing the fruits of Esteban's labor. She's not the one seeing these broken people being brought up from the depths to stand in the street, unable to comprehend they are free. But he is and she can go on in his ear about bigger issues, but he's not letting her win this one.

"Torture, abuse, murder. I don't see any bigger issues than that," he replies, then hangs up on the woman.

He's seen more than enough, and walking back up the street to his parked car he doesn't look back. Starting up the car, he makes his way through the street that is now clogged with police vehicles, spectators and gun wielding soldiers. It takes a few moments but with the road ahead finally clear, he heads back to town to return the car.

It's time to get back to the job he came to do. With no word from Reddington yet on where Kirk may have her, that may take a bit of waiting. But he meant what he'd said to Reddington.

He's come to get Liz, and he's not leaving without her.


	3. Nova Scotia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter starts with THE HUG. How could it not?!

The last few weeks with Liz dead and buried fade for the moment, and all he can feel is her softness and warmth against him. A hint of perfume surrounds her, barely noticeable against the aroma of the garden. But he detects it; a familiar echo from a time where life was simpler before the past few months overtook them. She buries her face into him, the soft warmth of her cheek against his neck. The fabric of her blouse ripples under his right hand as he gently rubs her back, caressing her as if to ease the pain, or give her a safe harbor in which to release it. And as he hears her breathing increase, he feels more than hears her emotion welling up inside her and the moment her sobs break through. Moving his head closer into her, dipping and burying into her hair as his eyes close, he hugs her tight, becoming one with her in a silent embrace that says more than words ever could.

"I'm…sorry," she sobs, burying her face further into his shoulder and gripping him tighter with her arms. "Ress...I'm sor...ry."

At her strangled words, his reply is to softly shush her and bring his right hand up to cup the back of her hair, cradling her against him in comfort. He doesn't need to tell her he understands. The strength of his embrace speaks for him. And just as they'd done so long ago under the tall trees near a cabin in the woods, she clings to him and he responds kindly, whispering in her ear. Rocking her gently, lost in an island of comfort as his olive clad TAC team process the scene around them, he is her rock. Her solid ground.

Samar's voice comes again over the radio in his hand, still unanswered and ignored. "Ressler?" And not missing a beat, he silently hands off the radio to one of his TAC team in an unspoken command. The agent complies, walking on past them and answering Samar in Ressler's place while he holds his partner. Because his place is here, holding and caressing Liz's back as her hands grip his shoulders and her tears fall.

"I didn't know what else to do, I didn't..." she tries to explain, her voice hitching in his ear.

"I know, I know," his words come, offering understanding in a world that has turned on both of them too many times to count.

As the initial release passes, her sobs begin to ease yet still she holds him close. Another minute and she inches from his arms to stand beside him. His hand rests on her arm, not willing to let her go just yet. Hands to her face, she wipes her tears from her red rimmed eyes and meets his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

He takes in the sight of her. As prepared as he'd imagined he was on setting eyes on her in the house, nothing could steel him against the vision of her breathing and full of life before him. He'd stood in the doorway, simply holding her in his eyes and unable to verbalize what was rushing through him. And he'd barely had time to say anything as duty had called him away. At an offered nod, he had left her in the care of the TAC team and run to the rear of the large home. But now she's close to him in the afternoon sun that highlights the strain on her face and her searching eyes. Eyes that are afraid to hold him. Waiting for the fallout.

"It's okay, Liz."

And in three words, her shoulders drop, the relief is evident in her and she nods, managing a watery smile before wiping both her cheeks again. Fingers brushing his Kevlar bound chest, she offers silent thanks.

He looks past her to the large home as the FBI chopper makes another sweep overhead. "What is this place?" he asks, letting his hand drop from her arm as she turns to take in the view.

"My home," she replies, softly shaking her head. "This is where I lived as a little girl."

Scanning the double story home, he exhales softly. "Really? Wow..." He's grown accustomed to Liz not knowing anything of her past and together they stand before a tangible part of who she was. At the motion of her head and flick of her hair, he follows her as she leads him inside. Walking up the stairs he steals a glance her way, still unable to comprehend she is right here beside him. And his heart rises from the place it had settled in the wake of her death, freeing him from the tight restraints that had held him vice-like in their grip.

###

Samar is standing by the Police car as they exit the house a little while later, descending the stairs together. Her dark eyes move to the both of them and Ressler hears Liz inhale beside him before huffing out her breath. It's obvious from Samar's stance what sort of reception Liz is going to receive. And it will not involve a hug and kind words.

They approach Samar, her folded arms still before her. "Liz, welcome back," she offers, but there is no smile behind the words. No relief or pleasure at her return.

"Thank you, Samar." Liz pauses to take a breath, treading carefully against the cool reception. "I'm sorry. I know what I did-"

"You don't know. You have no idea," Samar replies, cutting her off mid-sentence before she turns to Ressler. "Kirk is nowhere in sight, nor is Agnes. As I informed you earlier but I was not sure if you got my message."

Ressler nods against the clench of his jaw, not appreciating the attitude. He'd heard her earlier update but had more pressing issues on his mind at the time. "I heard. TAC team are still mopping up. Let's get out of here," he replies, moving toward the waiting SUV, stopping at the sharp intake of breath from Liz.

"No. Agnes was coming here. We can't leave!"

"She wasn't here?" Samar asks.

"No. They were bringing her here to Kirk," Liz explains to Ressler, bypassing Samar and informing him directly.

"If they were bringing her to Kirk, then he has to have got word out that things have gone south. He's in the wind, Liz. They may be taking her to Kirk, but that won't involve bringing her here."

Her eyes search his, blinking back threatening tears. "I need to find her."

"I know, Liz. I know. And our best chance at doing just that is to get back to DC and start looking for Kirk."

"She needs me. My baby," she whispers, her eyes looking beyond him to the house, as if to find her there among the history and doll houses of her upbringing.

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you abandoned her right after her birth. Then none of this would be happening," Samar snaps, shaking her head in disgust.

"Enough," Ressler tells her.

Liz faces her, chin lifting. "No, it's okay. She's right." Bottom lip slightly quivering, she attempts to face Samar squarely. "Just say what you need to say, and let's be done with this."

"You don't want to hear what I have to say, Liz. Because it won't fit into your perfectly selfish little universe."

"I said, enough," Ressler warns again, "You can at least listen to what she has to say."

Samar shakes her head. "I don't have to listen. I'm not like you. I'm not going to forgive her for doing this. And the only reason you're not tearing strips off her is because of the way you feel about her."

His eyes glitter dangerously at her, jaw clenching.

Beside him Liz speaks up again. "Look I know I did wrong, okay? But can we just act like adults here?"

"Like adults, Liz? I don't believe you're capable." She turns to Ressler again. "And there is only one reason you're not angry with her. It's obvious. You're in love her. It's the only explanation for your continued behavior where she is concerned."

Ressler clenches his teeth against the retort. He's not going to give Samar the satisfaction of an answer to that one. That, and the fact she's nailed it.

"I don't have time for this. The plane is waiting." And without a backward glance to either of them, Samar strides to one of the waiting SUV's.

"I deserved that. It's okay," Liz says, licking her bottom lip.

"It's not okay," he fumes.

Tearing his eyes off Samar, Ressler finds Liz's eyes. Samar's words hang between them and he doesn't need to confirm nor deny her observation. In reply, Liz stands on her toes leans close to him and kisses his cheek. He doesn't ask why as she gently draws away.

They both know Samar is right.

"Let's get out of here," he tells her, his hand finding her back and motioning toward the second SUV. The one that does not have Samar Navabi sitting in it.

###

Taking the two rear seats while Samar sits at the front of the FBI jet, the plane is soon taxiing for takeoff, lifting them into the late afternoon sky. Mindful of the driver in the SUV, they hadn't said much to each other. Nothing of any consequence at least. But now as they level off at their cruising altitude and the Unfasten Seat Belts sign chimes, Liz snaps off her belt and leans closer to him in her chair.

"Okay, we can talk now, and I'll do my best to make sense of it all for you," she tells him softly, and he knows she's talking about her return from the dead, and not the revelation of his feelings for her. Because that wasn't news to either of them. They've both known for some time that things are complicated between them.

A myriad of questions come to mind. And he's almost wanting not to ask, not wanting to stir the pot, yet knowing he needs some of it for his own peace of mind. He looks at her, glances away and then back to her waiting eyes. And he knows how she did it, since there was a doctor and Mr Kaplan with her at the time. And he understands why she did it where Reddington is involved, since the man himself had told him that. But that's just the facts. He pauses, bites his bottom lip and then asks only one question of her. Because there is really only one thing he needs to hear.

"Was it worth it?"

She sighs, thinks before answering then chooses her words carefully. "At the time, yes. At first it was. After being oppressed by Reddington for so long I was finally free of him and all of the danger he brings. It was terrifying, yet also liberating. For the first time in a long time I felt some measure of hope for a normal future for my family."

He nods, looks silently at her for more, not interrupting her train of thought.

"But as the hours became days, it got harder and harder to get up in the morning. I missed everyone. I missed my baby and ached for her. For all of you. But there was no going back. I'd literally dug my grave and had to lie in it." Turning her right hand over, she absently runs her fingers along her scar, lost in finding the right words. He waits for her as the jet banks, making a course correction. Through the dipped window the setting sun shines its orange glow on them.

"I knew I'd hurt you all. That's what kept me awake most nights." She inhales, looks to him through eyes threatening to spill over. "I knew I'd hurt you, and I was so afraid for you especially."

He knows why. His past methods of dealing with pain have been less than healthy. "I didn't go that route, Liz," he tells her, but doesn't mention his attendance at NA meetings had increased. It had been hard. Impossible some nights, standing alone in their office at her empty desk. "I promised you," he says quietly, and at that her tears spill over.

"You did, that night you poured them down the sink." Her hand finds his, grasping it tight. "I'm sorry I put you through that, Ress."

"I know." While Samar cannot hear them against the steady thrum of the jet engines, their voices remain low, privately discussing a matter which has hurt each of them. "I know, Liz."

"So to answer your question, the best I can offer is Yes, and then No. None of this has turned out how it was supposed to. But then I really didn't have time to think it through. I grabbed hold of it with both hands at a vulnerable time and made a terrible, terrible choice. And now everyone I love has paid the price, including my innocent baby girl." Wiping her tears, she shakes her head, then looks around to the back of the plane and the restroom. "I'll be right back," she tells him, then leaves her seat.

From the front, Samar turns, watches Liz then glances at Ressler. She doesn't say anything before facing the front again.

A few minutes later Liz is back, dropping into the seat beside him again. Her face freshly washed and tears dry, she turns to him again. "You know, I thought you'd be the hardest of all. I really thought you'd be the angriest."

"Who, me? Mr I'm-Just-Doing-My-Job?" he asks, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I should be angry. I really should. But right now I'm just relieved that you aren't where we, uh, buried you."

She leans back in the seat, still tilting her head toward him. "I saw some of my funeral."

"You did?"

"Yeah, it was on the news in Cuba that Masha Rostova the fugitive died after being exonerated, so I saw some of it. It was…" She bites her lip, and looks away.

And he's back in the cathedral, as Cooper's breaking voice tells those gathered that they hadn't lost Elizabeth, that we knew exactly where she was, patting his heart. And he'd sat alone with throat aching against the effort not to shed a tear, afraid he'd not have been able to close the floodgates once opened. And not meeting her eyes now, he swallows past the echo of that lump in his throat and completes her thought. "It was awful."

She sniffs, looks back at him as a tear rolls down her cheek again. "I did that to you. All of you. Cooper, Aram," her eyes lift to the front of the plane. "Samar."

"It's been a rough time, Liz." Her red rimmed blue eyes are inches from his. Eyes he was never going to see again until two days ago. "I thought I'd lost you."

A thought occurs to her and her eyes raise to him, breath catching in her throat. "Did you see me… dead? Were you there?"

He swallows, quickly turns to look out the window at the clouds building below the wing. He nods, his mind filled with the image of her in the back of the white van. Dying in a metal box, and the only consolation he'd had at the time was that one who loved her dearly had held her hand as she'd passed beyond this life. He had not allowed his emotions to overtake him at that time and attempts not to now. Turning back to her, biting his bottom lip, he nods again.

"I've caused so much pain." Her hand lays over his once more. "I'm so sorry, Ress."

"I know." Leaning back a little more in his seat, he pauses, then catches her eyes again. "I'm sorry too. That you couldn't talk to me. That I wasn't there for you."

"You're here now," she whispers, settling beside him and laying her head on his shoulder. He feels the weight of her, welcomes it and moves into her more in support. He's missed her, and steals a glance at her after a few minutes. Eyes closed, her face is at peace, fast asleep. His eyes don't leave her face, studying her, taking in every detail. She shouldn't be here with him, and yet she is. Alive and well, and sleeping against him.

Some time later Samar rises from her seat, walks up the aisle and past them on her way to the rear restroom. Her eyes land on the sleeping form of Liz against his shoulder. She pauses mid step, looks to say something but then keeps on going. Ressler just wants her to remain quiet for the duration of the flight. But that may be too much to ask for as the bathroom door closes, startling Liz awake. And Ressler can't be positive that Samar didn't do it deliberately.

"How long have I been asleep?" Liz asks, straightening and running her hands over her cheeks.

"About two hours," he tells her "We have about another hour before we land." He motions to the tray in front of him. "And you're in luck, we have a gourmet something here to eat," he smiles, knowing full well she hates the ready-made meals on the FBI jet that are in stark contrast to the real deal on Reddington's mode of transport.

"I'll pass," she smiles as Samar exits the small room at the rear of the plane. Leaning back in her seat, she looks up at Samar.

"May I talk with you?" Liz asks.

The hesitation obvious, Samar glances to the front of the jet, then back to Liz. "Sure, we can go down the front."

"Thank you," Liz replies, offers a glance back to Ressler and rises from her seat. With his best 'I'll be here if you need anything' or actually his 'I'll come rough the bitch up if she gets out of hand again' nod to her, Liz follows Samar to the front.

And now it's his turn to sit alone while the two women talk at the front of the plane. And he's impressed. Not one raised voice. Not one hurled insult. Just hushed tones as Liz does most of the talking and Samar listens. Ressler relaxes somewhat, keeping one ear on them and looking at city lights far below the jet.

A short time later Liz is back, buckling herself in as the captain puts the Fasten Seat Belts sign on again for descent.

"You good?" Ressler asks her.

"I think. Well, certainly better than before," she tells him. "It's going to take her a while."

"And just think, you still have Cooper and Aram to face," he says, eyes sliding to her.

"Oh God, don't remind me," she sighs. "I really can't face much more of this tonight."

Looking at his watch and adjusting it for the time change, he comes to a decision. "We don't need to go to the Post Office after we land, if you don't feel up to it. I can call Cooper and let him know you're getting some rest and will be in tomorrow,"

"Thank you," she replies, "That's great, except I don't have an apartment, clothes or anything. Not even an overnight bag. I don't exist anymore…"

"I know. That's why you're coming back to my place."

And at that, she doesn't argue with him.

###

It's late and the sweep of the control tower light comes past them, illuminating their small area of the airport as they exit the plane.

Samar waits for them at the bottom of the steps on the tarmac. Ressler is tired and in no mood for anything else from her, but slows when it's obvious she wants to say something.

"I wanted to apologize to you both. I know I've been a bitch," she tells Ressler, to which he doesn't disagree, but nods in acceptance. "Liz, I appreciate you talking with me, and I will try and do better."

Ressler is waiting for the 'but'. He's not disappointed as Samar continues.

"But, realize that you have hurt us all, and this isn't going to be an easy transition. But I'll say goodnight now, and see you tomorrow." And not waiting for a reply, she walks to one of the waiting SUVs. And once again, Ressler and Liz take the second vehicle.

###

Thirty minutes later he unlocks the door to his apartment. It's after midnight on a day that started with him leaving Cuba, being diverted from his flight to DC then up to Nova Scotia, then back to DC. And in between, his partner has been delivered back to him.

He drops his duffel bag in the living room as she stands. "I'd like to take a shower, but I don't have anything clean to wear," she says, suddenly at a loss.

"Already got that covered," he tells her and steps past her to the hall closet. Opening it, he reaches down to the bottom and pulls out a small suitcase. It's been a while since he's opened it, but he still knows what's inside. He hands her the suitcase, as she narrows her eyes in question.

"What is this?" she asks, taking the suitcase from him.

"Consider it a gift from Audrey," he says quietly, closing the closet door and turning to her.

"Oh… oh my gosh, are you sure?"

He leans against the wall, remembering the night he'd placed it in the closet and the pain in his heart. Life had come crashing down around him and the suitcase had symbolized so much. And all of it came back to undeniable loss. Yet life has a way of coming full circle and today is not about loss. Today is about resurrection and life.

"I'm sure. She'd want you to use whatever you can." He leans up off the wall and smiles, touching her shoulder. "Go take your shower and I'll see what I can find us to eat."

While she's showering he whips up some breakfast for them of toast, eggs, bacon and coffee. It may be 1:00am, but his logic is that breakfast can be eaten any time of the day or night. He's dishing it out onto plates as she comes into the kitchen and his breath catches in his throat. He'd given her the suitcase, but still it's a shock to see the same robe, same nightgown, same slippers on a different woman. He stares a moment too long, recovers then waves his hand to the table as she sits.

"I'm sorry," she says, accepting the coffee that he hands her. He knows what she's apologizing for.

"It's okay, I'm glad you can use them, and she'd like that," he replies, digging into his scrambled eggs.

She butters her toast, takes a bite and washes it down with a mouthful of coffee. "You're a good man, Ress. You really are."

He smiles ruefully. "And I also make a mean breakfast in the middle of the night," he smiles, breaking the tension. And he's rewarded with her smile. The first real smile since he found her. As her eyes light up, he grins with her and together they eat their meal. 

As they finish, their dirty plates and cups in front of him, she rises from the table. "I'll clean up if you want to shower." He accepts the offer, leaving her in the kitchen as he heads for his bathroom. And what strikes him is now normal it feels that she is washing dishes in his kitchen while he tosses his dirty shirt in the clothes hamper and hangs up his suit. They're so comfortable together. She's back. And the song comes to his mind, that you don't know what you've got till it's gone. Yet despite what he may feel when he looks at her, she is with another man. He sighs, pulls the shower curtain closed with a metallic scrape and tries to wash away the thoughts bouncing around his head.

A little while later he's dressed in t-shirt and pajama bottoms, and pads out to the living room still scrubbing his hair dry. Liz has been busy, he sees, having found his spare blankets and pillows and made her bed on the couch. She's laying in it, surrounded in a cream blanket, dressed in Audrey's pink nightgown and already asleep. Lowering the towel from his head he stands a moment, taking in the sight. With her auburn hair framing her face and her long dark lashes against her pale skin, she's beautiful. And suddenly he's leaning down to kiss her goodnight, but stops himself. As much as he feels for her, she's not his. She may be wearing his fiancé's clothing, and be his friend but she isn't his. He straightens, wishes her a silent goodnight and turns off the light before heading to his room.

And it takes him a little while, even as tired as he is, before he can roll over and fall asleep.

###

He's dreaming of Audrey, and it's been a while since she has paid him a visit in the night. The dreams of her are not so painful now. No longer only blood filled horror, she steps into his sleep with fonder memories. Of talking and laughing and happier times. He will forever miss her, but now his mind allows him to recall the better times with her. And even in his dream he knows why she has visited him tonight. She's even wearing the same pink nightgown. And she kisses him, holds his face in her hands and tells him she will always be part of his past. And that it's okay to have a future. And in his dream, they dance. He was never one for dancing in public, but in the privacy of their home, she was the only one who could entice him to the floor in a simple display of affection, holding and moving with her. Hardly qualifying as dancing, but still she had loved it. So had he.

His eyes slide open and look to the clock on his night stand. 4:43am. Laying there a moment the dream that was so vivid quickly fades, and tossing the blanket aside he makes his way to the bathroom. On returning to bed, he's laying down again when there is a faint knock and his bedroom door slowly opens.

"Ress?"

Her voice wavers and recognizing tears when he hears them he sits up. "Hey, you alright?" Of course she's not. When a woman is crying in the middle of the night, she's not alright.

"I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, but I heard you get up," she sniffs in the darkened doorway.

"You're not," he tells her leaning over to flip on the bedside lamp, gently illuminating her red eyes and face. No longer the peaceful image he'd seen as she fell asleep. And perhaps it's because she's in Audrey's nightgown. Or perhaps because Audrey herself has just visited his slumber. Or perhaps because she's been returned to him from the dead, but he doesn't hesitate and pats the other side of the bed.

With a grateful smile she moves to the other side of the room and climbs in beside him, laying on her side and facing him. He leaves the lamp on, because he is a gentleman after all, and lays on his side facing her.

"I dreamed of Agnes," she sniffs, "my baby girl is somewhere out there and I don't know where she is. She's all alone," she cries as the dream comes back to the fore.

He scoots closer and just as he'd done that afternoon, initiates the hug and holds her against him. And once again, she sobs into him.

"My baby… my baby girl..." she cries, her strangled words in his ears. "She needs me," she sobs, and his eyes close, hugging her to him. He had wanted her baby to be there today. He had needed that for her also.

"Ssshh, I know," he soothes, stroking her hair, feeling it soft and silky under his palm. "We'll find her, Liz. I promise." And there he goes again, promising things he doesn't know he can deliver. But where this woman is concerned, he can't help it. "We'll find your baby girl."

She nods against him, and under his arms he feels the tension slipping away from her body, as she settles in and finds her niche beside him. And while he strokes her hair, her breathing evens and she falls into a restless sleep. He's held her before through the night, and does so again. And soon she's sleeping peacefully again, just as she was on the couch. In the soft light of the lamp, her head lays on the pillow beside his, tears still drying on her cheeks.

Reaching back, not disturbing her, he finds the lamp and flips off the light. And once more he bids her a silent goodnight in the soft light coming through his bedroom window.

The only difference is this time he does kiss her, gently moving her hair off her forehead and brushing his lips against her soft skin.


	4. For Liz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter that takes place right before the opening scene with Ressler, Liz and Tom in his office, at the beginning of 4x03 Miles McGrath.

Ressler walks from the yellow elevator, his eyes darting around the deserted war room. He's in first this morning and drops his briefcase beside his desk. Coffee is out of the question though. He's jumpy enough despite the lack of sleep. And it really doesn't take a genius to pin down the reason he'd stared at the ceiling half the night, laying alone in the quiet of his apartment. The only sound the soft ticking of the clock in the living room through his open bedroom door.

Try as he might, his mind had returned to one thought. One person. Liz.

Two nights ago she had slept beside him and again he had not closed his eyes, choosing only to lay quietly and watch her. Be there for her if she woke crying again through the night. And the moment he'd seen her stirring in the morning light, he'd immediately risen and put the coffee on rather than have that awkward moment when she'd opened her eyes. It was safer. A self-preservation moment.

And as the initial shock of her return fades, this myriad of emotions won't stop running through his mind. He should be angry at her. And the biggest question in his mind, the one that contributed to keeping him awake half the night is, _why isn't he?_

He could say it's only relief that his partner is back. That maybe she was a victim in this too, having just given birth and hearing such a ridiculous scheme thrown at her. But whatever her reasons, he'd missed her more than anyone knew. He'd kept it hidden as usual, putting those brick walls back up so easily in front of Cooper and the task force. Slipping back into that had been a normal reaction, yet inwardly he'd struggled. They all had, and in those moments every so often when they had discussed their lost colleague, he had said little, choosing to return to the job at hand. He could tell himself that, but deep down he knows the real reason.

Her return has given him another chance at something he'd given up on as he'd carried her coffin. Something he'd buried with her. A chance at a future. And yet still he squashes that down, shaking his head in impatience. It's a pipe dream. Never gonna happen. After delivering her back to Tom yesterday afternoon, they had been holed up the empty warehouse Baz had taken her into. And he'd stayed outside in the sunlight watching Reddington drive off as she left him, unable to walk in with her and watch her with him. With Tom.

And that isn't sitting well with him. He's better than this, isn't he?

The fact that she won't leave his thoughts indicates that apparently, he's not better than that. He scowls, rising from his desk as he hears the elevator doors open. A young FBI intern, his navy FBI jacket so new the creases are still visible, walks through the yellow opening and pauses. Behind him, a two wheeler laden with evidence boxes stacked on it almost bumps into him. Ressler has been waiting on the delivery and walks briskly to the young man, signing the docket and taking delivery.

"Thank you, sir," the intern nods and steps back into the elevator.

Pulling the heavy cart toward his office, he parks it out the way of the foot traffic. The evidence team had collected every document and paper they could find from the summer palace, as Liz had called it. Somewhere in here there may be a clue to where Kirk had fled with Agnes. He places the clipboard back on the stacked boxes as his phone lights up with a text from Liz. He stops and stares a moment at her name. He'd never deleted her name from his phone. He couldn't bear to and had never imagined he'd see his phone light up receiving something from her again.

[Hey, can you come up to the parking garage? They won't let me in]

He should have realized that earlier and heads for the elevator to talk to the guards up top. And it's as he's stepping into the yellow box that her second text comes in.

[they will let Tom in, but not me! Srsly?!]

And that anger he's been wondering about rears its ugly head, finally making its presence felt. That son of a bitch has more clearance in an FBI black site than Liz? THAT is something that never should have happened. He swallows it down though with a clench of his teeth, determined that he will not make a scene. For Liz.

The doors open and as he nods to the two security guards he spots Liz standing at a nearby vehicle, Tom beside her. Opening a fist that he hadn't realized was clenched, he motions to them. As they walk over he turns to the armed guards.

"She's with me," he tells them. They immediately stand aside and let the trio enter the elevator. The words hang in the air. _She's with me._ But she isn't. She's with him. Again he admonishes himself for allowing himself to even go down that path. Something has happened to his brain with her resurrection, and he's not familiar with it.

"Thank you," Liz smiles, turning to him as they descend. She exhales, shudders and looks up at him. He knows what she's going to say.

"No one is in yet. Just me," he reassures her.

She nods thankfully as the doors open. Standing a moment before stepping out, Ressler looks to her. He feels it too. Neither of them ever thought she'd step back into the war room.

"Yeah…" he says quietly, and at that she steps into the room, taking it all in. It's just as she left it, yet it will never be the same again.

"I'll catch up," Ressler tells her as she turns back to him.

Seeing Ressler standing near Tom tells her everything she needs to know. "Got it," she says, then turns and leaves the two men.

"So just say what you gotta say. I don't blame you for being pissed off," Tom tells him as Ressler leads them away from the elevator to a darkened corner. The same corner where he'd looked at Liz with Ethan and his father between them, he notices but shrugs off that thought.

Ressler inhales as he faces the man. Control. Do not let him get to you, he tells himself. Yet even with that, he's unable to stop the scowl. "I ought to string you up by the balls for what you-"

Hands open in front of his chest, Tom interrupts. "Look, I know, man. I get it."

"Do you? I don't think you do," Ressler tells him through clenched teeth.

"I understand. I already got this from Aram-"

Ressler scoffs. Aram is a cake walk compared to what he could willingly do to Tom Keen right now. "Let me tell you, pal, I don't like you. I never have-"

"And you never will," Tom finishes as Ressler shakes his head. At least they're on the same page with that one.

Finger raised, Ressler points at the man and continues, voice low and taut, "Let's get one thing straight," he tells him. "The only reason I'm not having you escorted off the premises or locked up for filing a false death report right now is because we need to find your daughter."

"Yeah, we do, and we don't have time for this-"

"I'll keep it short," Ressler says, eyes glittering as he looks at Tom Keen. "You make one more wrong move, and-"

"What, you'll string me up? Because I gotta tell you, I can give as good as you can, _pal_." Tom's eyes shine with a hint of amusement as he faces Ressler, a fact that only increases Ressler's ire.

"You lied to us, you son of a bitch. You came in here all those times and had us looking for the man who killed Liz. And you knew. You KNEW she wasn't dead."

"I know, and I'm sorry, man. If there had been any other way. But it was for our-"

"Your daughter. I get that," he tells Tom, shaking his head. "But she isn't safe, is she? She's in far more danger than if you had never pulled off this damned hoax."

"You think I don't know that, man? I'm just thankful we got Liz back." He straightens, looks closely at Ressler. "I'm thankful YOU got her back from that house."

And at that, Ressler stops. He has said his piece. He did get her safely back from the house and everything from this point onward, he is doing for Liz, not the man in front of him. Ressler's voice calms as he looks toward Liz at the other end of the war room. She's trying not to watch the two men, but he can feel her eyes on them. "Yeah, well don't thank me too soon, since Agnes is still with Kirk."

"Yeah, she is," Tom replies, shoving his hands in his pockets, lowering his voice. "Look, I know you and I are never going to see eye to eye. I get that. But right now, Agnes needs all of us on HER side."

"Which is exactly why I'll play nice for Liz's sake," Ressler replies, "But that doesn't mean I won't be watching you, got it?"

"Wouldn't expect anything less from you," Tom chuckles. "We done?"

Ressler shakes his head, and allows a sarcastic grin. "Oh, you and I will never be done. But let's get to work," he says, motioning to Liz as they head for his office.

As she approaches, she stops them both, putting her hands on their arms as she stands before them. "I know this is hard, having to lie about what we did. But I appreciate both of you working together on this for Agnes, okay?"

Ressler nods to her, "I think we have an understanding."

Tom speaks up beside him, "Yeah, sure, we can play nice."

Liz moves forward, right between them and wraps one arm around each of them. "I love you guys. Both of you, and I thank you for not killing each other while we're getting my baby girl back."

But Ressler barely hears the last part of her sentence. The part after she said "I love you." Recovering his composure, he looks to Liz as she steps back from them. Time to get to work. Because even now, it's still the best way to keep his brain where it needs to be.

Stepping into his office from behind Liz's desk, Tom speaks up, getting onto why they're here. "We have no idea where she is or what he's doing with her."

Liz adds to the statement, and Ressler is puzzled why she thinks Kirk is her father. How many more men are going to step into her life as her father figure? He doesn't know, even as he offers his opinion on Kirk.

"Not exactly Father of the Year," he states as they walk through his office toward the two wheeler of evidence boxes. And he can't let them look in those boxes. They're Bureau evidence and Liz is no longer an agent. Plus he no longer knows what the hell reason Tom Keen has for being allowed in the war room.

So he's not letting them look in the boxes. Or so he tells himself.

"Ressler, why the hell not?"

And keeping his word would have been a whole lot easier if she just hadn't looked at him like that. Because he's done it from day one, letting her into a hospital room to speak to the victim she'd just stabbed in the neck. Perhaps she doesn't know she does it. Or perhaps she does. But either way, Ressler's resolve flies out the window and he's letting them look in the boxes as he heads back to his office.

As he sits at his desk he half sees through his window blind as Aram and Samar arrive, yet keeps to himself to let that reunion take place. But that's not the only reason. It's that being that close to her back at work while she's with Tom Keen is suddenly not an easy thing to handle.

And once again he wishes fervently that his brain would just stop thinking that way. But he can work with the man for now while they work to find Kirk and Agnes. Yet he's not doing it for the Keens.

He's doing it for Liz.


	5. Partners Once More

_Another short chapter from 4x03 Miles McGrath, before Ressler and Liz head out to the rooftop to keep tabs on Tom._

* * *

Having decided that perhaps he does need coffee after all, despite his rattled brain today, Ressler is walking back into the war room with coffee in hand when he hears Liz.

"Aram, I know, but he's going in there blind. We need to wire him."

"Liz, I understand, but if Reddington wants me in there, then I'm damn sure he doesn't want anything on me that's going to give away the fact I'm not who I say I am," Tom adds.

And Ressler doesn't even need to ask what they're talking about. Tom Keen is infiltrating a group working for Kirk, going under cover and naturally, Liz is concerned. He stands to the side, sipping his hot coffee, wishing for the sake of his tongue that he'd waited a moment to let it cool then walks toward them. "He has a good point, Liz."

Exasperated, she turns to him, her hair sweeping out behind her as she turns. "He'll be going in there blind!"

"Nothing he hasn't done before, I'm sure," Ressler replies, nodding toward Tom. And hey, if the man wants to run off and be Tom Bond, who is he to argue.

"Exactly, see, even the boy scout gets it."

Liz sighs, folds her arms and shakes her head as she faces Aram. "Don't you have anything small and unobtrusive?"

Aram smiles, "You mean kinda spy like? Actually, I do, and well… Okay, I shouldn't say this, but I've been itching to use it, but um, I don't want to upset Mr Red-"

Ressler shrugs, seeing where this is going. But his interest is piqued now. "What have you got?"

Aram reaches into his lower drawer and pulls out a plastic bag. "This," he says proudly. "Remember Drexel and his storage unit of uber goodies?"

"Uber what?" Samar walks up behind them, joining in the conversation.

"Goodies. This thing qualifies. A tiny personal mic that will fit in your ear, and this wireless receiver that can be placed on the inside of your shirt. No one will even see it. They could take your shirt off and pat you down completely, and it won't be found." His eyes shine, like a little boy with a new toy. "This thing is mega awesome."

"Well, how can you argue with mega awesome?" Samar ribs, before turning back to her desk, effectively turning her back on Liz.

"What do you think?" Ressler asks Tom, inwardly kicking himself for even discussing any op with the man. But he's here. And Reddington has planted him in the team with his contact. And once again he reminds himself that this is for Liz.

Turning the small bag containing the device over in his hand, Tom nods to Aram. "Sure, let's go for it."

"Finally!" Liz says, throwing her hands into the air. "I still don't like this though. We have no idea what you're walking into."

"Liz, I'll be fine, okay?" Tom tells her quietly as Aram gets his laptop set for the software to operate the tiny device.

And despite his inner voice telling him he has zero problem with Tom Keen walking into an op alone, Ressler looks to Liz's worried features and speaks up. "Mic him and I'll go in with him and stay back where I can go in if need be."

The relief on Liz's face is short lived. "Thank you, but I'm coming with you too."

Samar turns from her desk to stare at Liz. And Ressler doesn't even need to hand her knife with the way her words cut the air. "You can't go. You're not an agent."

"What? I'm going," she replies. "My husband is-"

"He's not your husband," Samar adds, cutting her off.

"Hey, cool it, babe," says Tom, placing his hand on Liz's upper arm.

Ressler throws Samar a look, before trying to calm the situation. "Okay, look-"

And now it's Ressler's turn to get cut off by her words. "But whether you are married is irrelevant. I still have not heard one plausible explanation why either of you even have clearance to be down here."

"Samar…" Aram hisses to her, for the second time that day. "I mean, Agent Navabi…" he adds, quickly glancing at Ressler.

But Ressler is too busy staring down Samar. "She has permission to be here. My permission," he tells her, and if his coffee cup had been foam he'd have crushed it and spilled coffee everywhere. He stands near her, cutting her with his eyes. "You got a problem with that?"

"Actually, I do," she tells him, ignoring Aram's hissed response and Ressler's glare. "I have a very big problem with all of this. Liz, you have no jurisdiction here, let alone going out into the field with agents."

"That's enough," Ressler tells her, slamming his coffee cup on Aram's small desk, spilling some of it near his laptop. And Aram doesn't know whether to look at the coffee spill or Ressler and Samar. But the glare of Ressler is more than enough and he drops his gaze.

"I'm done. I've said my piece," Samar tells him, turning back to her desk.

Liz has stood open mouthed through the exchange and now finds her voice. "Look, I understand you have a problem with me. And I'm sorry, but I am involved in this."

"For the record," Ressler's voice overrides hers, his words even and taut as he addresses Samar who still has her back to him. "This is not a Bureau op. This is Reddington's op, and _I_ am the one who is riding point with _them_. You got that, Agent Navabi? Is that clear enough for you?"

She swivels on her stool and nods. "Crystal," she replies before turning back to her desk.

Breathing evenly, Ressler holds back on what he's about to add; something along the lines of her transferring out NOW and turns to Tom instead. "Get ready to head on out to where you're meeting them." At Tom's nod he turns to Liz.

"And you're with me. We head out in five."

"Thank you," Liz whispers, before Ressler snakes past her and takes the stairs up to Cooper's office three at a time to give a quick status report.

###

A few minutes later he watches from the driver's seat as Liz says goodbye to Tom before he heads off for the designated meeting. And he'd be lying if he said the sight of her kissing the man didn't hurt. He glances sideways, ignores them as best he can and starts the engine as Liz opens the passenger door and climbs in beside him. Leaning forward, she sets the GPS with the coordinates of their destination.

"All set?" he asks, and she nods silently as they pull out onto the street. The afternoon isn't cold, but their designated vantage point on which to keep tabs on Tom is on a roof top. It's going to be windy up there. It's suddenly just the two of them on a mission and it occurs to them both at the same time. As she turns to look at him, he's already looking to her as they stop at the street, and she smiles.

"Just like old times" she says, but there is a tinge of sadness to her words, as her eyes drop for a moment and she bites her bottom lip.

Not like old times at all. It will never be like old times.

"Welcome back, Liz." He's never actually said it. It was assumed, but he hasn't voiced it. He does now. "I, uh, I'm glad you're not dead," he says, attempts a small smile but it only adds to the quiver in her lip.

"I'm so thankful for you, Ress. It's made things better… easier for me to know that I have your support."

"Always," he tells her, then pulls out into the traffic and is glad that the road is fairly clear in the afternoon sun.

The catch in her breath draws his eyes back to her as her fingers brush her cheeks. "But not everyone is as glad." She wipes her eyes, sniffs and looks out the passenger window at the buildings as they drive past. "Samar hates me, and Cooper hasn't said anything. Aram is polite, but I know he's upset deep inside."

"All you can do is give them time, Liz. This isn't easy." His hands grip the steering wheel. Because he can't tell her the part that isn't easy where he's concerned. That of seeing her with…him.

"I know. But Samar is transferring. I've ruined the task force," she replies, turning back to him.

"Look, we can figure that out later, Liz. If she doesn't feel she can work in the task force, then we'll just…figure it out." And suddenly his heart knows what it wants. For Liz to be reinstated and be his partner once more. Because she is and always will be his true partner. The one that understands him. The one who trusts him and has his back and he hers. Everything that he hasn't had with Samar. And the irony is, that the one thing he's shared with Samar on that rock bottom day is the only thing he's never shared with Liz. The one his heart needed that night. Life is complicated. Getting back to the job at hand is so much easier and clearer. He's here to listen in on a meeting with a man he can't abide. The man Liz loves.

"Penny for your thoughts," she asks, and he quickly glances at her. He's not telling her these thoughts. No way.

"Just thinking ahead to what we need to do when Tom goes on in," he says, and technically he's telling the truth, but still she tilts her head at him and he can't meet her eyes. And that alone tells her what she needs to know.

"Right. I might have been dead, but I still know you, Ress." At his silence, she continues. "One day, I'd like to sit down with you and go through it all."

And he knows what she's referring to. And maybe he'd like that too but he can't think about it now. "Well, I'm okay, Liz. I mean, you're back, right?" he smiles at her, eyebrows lifting as he answers her.

"That I am." Her hand brushes his arm as he stops at a traffic light. "I've missed you. I don't think you understand how much. But I missed you the most, Ress."

And that is something he also doesn't know how to answer as he swallows, inhales and keeps his eyes on the road. Because if he looks at her, he'll likely say something he'll regret.

"Look at us," she smiles, breaking the tension. "You'd think I was still dead."

And now the months slide by, and he's back driving his partner to a location. And it feels good. He wishes fervently it were more permanent and not just an op they're on at Reddington's say-so. But part of him knows that as things currently stand, Liz cannot be an agent again. And he needs her to be. He'll never tell her just how much he needs that. Because he hadn't realized himself until she was back.

"You're very quiet," she says. "Even for you."

He grins, shakes his head a little as he drives and looks ahead at the traffic. "Just thinking about the job at hand," he tells her. And again the boy scout in him isn't lying. Okay, so maybe not be telling the entire truth, but it's as close as he'll allow.

"You know I'm a profiler, right? They may not pay me to be one anymore… But I can still read YOU like a book."

"Hey, a man's gotta have some secrets," he tells her and grins as she laughs beside him. That's something he's missed terribly and his heart lifts at the sound.

The GPS lady speaks up, letting them know they'll soon be arriving at their destination. "That tall building up there on the right," Liz says, pointing as he indicates and pulls off the road into a parking area. Or what services as a parking area but is now overgrown and abandoned. They're behind the building Tom will be meeting in, and Ressler parks under an old awning, hiding their vehicle from the road and above.

Exiting the vehicle, they stand in the wind and holding her hair futilely behind her ears she takes in the 6 story building. "So, up we go then," she says, looking for the fire escape. But he's already spotted it and motions to the other end of the building.

The fire escape is some 6 feet off the ground, and standing under it, she turns back to them. "Um, I can't reach," she says but he's already leaning down a little to give her a leg up. And with her hand resting on his shoulder she steadies herself on him, steps into his linked hands and hoists herself up to the bottom rung of the ladder. She's close to him, and even in the strong wind he catches a whiff of her perfume. She's back. She's really and truly back.

As she climbs he looks up to make sure she's okay, then jumps and catches the bottom step. In one move he hauls himself up, and from above she smiles. "I see you've still been working out," she smiles as he comes up behind her. And up they go, him below her as they climb and the parking lot gets further away from them as the roofline gets nearer. And that's something else he doesn't mention. That he'd been running off his stress and despair while she'd been gone. And the only benefit was that he's now fitter than he's been in some time.

Climbing onto the roof, they pause a moment and take in the view. From their height the street stretches out below them. This end of town isn't busy and derelict and abandoned warehouses surround them. An echo of an industrial revolution that has long since been edged out by the digital revolution. He points to the opposite corner. "Over there should be good."

And together they walk across the roof. The surface is solid and still well covered in a strong bitumen to withstand the elements. As they near the edge they slow, drop to a crouch and then lower themselves almost to their bellies. Another street lies below them, and in the distance they see the car approaching.

"There he is," she whispers, though no one can hear them at this height.

"I hope he'll be okay in there," she says, more to herself than Ressler.

He catches it and nods. "He's a trained operative, Liz. He'll be fine," he encourages and then can't help himself. "He's a good liar, remember?"

And she laughs, nudges his arm lightly and replies as they look at Tom exit the car. "I guess that's a compliment, of sorts! And again, thank you," she says, looking at him as the wind blows her hair every which way.

"You're welcome," he tells her, then drags his eyes off her to do the job they came to do. Because with her this close to him, concentrating on the job is his best bet.


	6. Baby Monitor

_This chapter takes place in the middle of 4x04 Gaia._

* * *

Ressler walks slowly into his office and drops to his chair, swivels around and exhales as Liz looks up at him from across their desks. She's not technically an agent and has no jurisdiction, yet no one argued, least of all him, when she sat back at her old desk.

"You look like I feel," Liz tells him, looking over her laptop screen between them.

"Yeah. Geez, Liz. A nuclear power plant is in the firing line. This is a whole new ball game from our usual suspects," he says, shaking his head as he tries to process it all. Everyone within a 50-mile radius will be wiped from the face of the earth if they don't stop this guy. Millions of lives will be lost.

His mind fills with images of Chernobyl and its invisible cloud of radioactive death to all who breathe it, and a mushroom cloud vaporizing one of the most powerful cities in the world. And yet still he doesn't picture his own probable demise. Only others. The children and families dying apart, never getting to hold each other tight in their final moments. Lifting his eyes, he sees the same in Liz. The fear not for herself but for her daughter.

"We'll stop him, right?" she asks, voice quivering, but he can't answer that. He can only pray for the sake of the state of New York that they do. But still he nods, more to help her feel a little better than to effectively answer the question.

"What are you working on?" he asks, leaning forward in his chair and needing to focus on the job at hand. And as she hesitates, reaching for the laptop lid to close it, he asks again.

"What is it?" He knows she's trying to hide what she's looking at. Her eyes are bluer than normal, picking up the light from the laptop as she looks up at him again from over the screen.

And just as he decides to drop it and let it go, she speaks softly. "Come and see."

Rising from his chair in one motion, he's at her side as she turns the laptop for him to see the screen. And what's on the screen is the last thing he expects.

"Is that-"

"Agnes, yes."

He leans forward, taking in the black and white video feed of the tiny child on the screen. "How?" he asks, glancing sideways at Liz as she likewise leans forward to view her daughter. "Where is she?"

"I don't know… But Kirk sent me this today so that I could log in and look at her any time of the day or night," she tells him, her tone hushed as if afraid to disturb her sleeping child. Delicately touching the screen, her fingers trace the outline of Agnes.

Leaning back, Ressler steps to his desk, grabs his chair and rolls it to her desk. Scooting over a little so he has room, he moves his chair by hers, sits down and gazes at the tiny girl who is almost lost in the basinet she's laying in. They have a city to save, he knows that. But right now this one small child might just signify all the lost children out there who may never come home tonight. He can spend a few minutes with this baby girl and her mother.

"We're gonna get her back, Liz," he tells her and almost as if Agnes hears his voice she stirs, raises her tiny fists to her eyes, rubs them and slowly opens them. Kicking her little legs and dislodging the blanket, she gazes around her basinet.

"Aaaww, baby girl," Liz coos to her, and Ressler smiles. And his resolve to find Agnes and bring her home deepens as his eyes slide across to Liz. The tears in her eyes threaten to spill over as she talks softly to her child on the screen. She cannot hold her, and Ressler wants to give her that. More than anything else. Agnes begins to cry and as Liz's finger traces her on the screen a hand comes into view, holding a small bottle that the baby immediately begins to suck on.

"Is that Kirk?" Ressler asks, leaning further forward.

"Yes." She points to the screen. "See, on his right wrist, the bruising from his blood transfusions. Instinctively she rubs her own scar on her right wrist. Ressler sees the motion, noting the odd familiarity between the pale wrist on the screen and the pink and scarred one near him. And Liz is so calm. This man is holding her child from her, and yet again, Ressler hears something akin to understanding behind her words.

"I may not be able to stand that he has her, but I can see she's being taken care of," she whispers, her fingers tracing Agnes's tiny face.

Aram peers in the office behind Ressler's desk and knocks lightly on the door, obviously not wanting to disturb his coworkers sitting together. "Um, Agent Ressler, we got something."

Ressler nods, takes one last look at Agnes on the screen and follows Aram to the war room, leaving Liz to be alone with her baby girl.

###

Some 15 minutes later Ressler walks back into their office with two coffees in hand and deposits one on Liz's desk.

"Thanks," she replies and takes a sip. "What did Aram have?"

"He spoke to the engineer at Stone Park. They can't just shut the plant down in a few hours. It takes days for the core to cool." He sits down, his chair still at her end of the office. "And as we know, the river is going to be at low tide in a few hours. It's bad, Liz."

Her screen is filled with tidal charts and information on the Hudson River and the area surrounding the nuclear plant. "I have a call in to a Doctor Thornton at the University. He knows more about the river than what's on these charts."

Sipping on his coffee, Ressler studies her over the rim of his cup. She's tired. The drawn features tell him she's not sleeping. Being apart from her child is eating away at her. "You still got the link open to her?" he asks softly, and is answered by her sad smile.

With a click, the tidal charts disappear and the basinet and baby girl is back up. "My princess," she whispers.

"And you can't trace this feed or he will just take her away and disappear long before we could get there," he says, more to himself than to anything she has said.

"Exactly. See, YOU get that," she sighs, picking up her coffee cup again, "Unlike others."

He doesn't need to ask who she is referring to. And part of him just wants to sit here with her, but there is work to be done. "Duty calls," he tells her spying Cooper coming down the metal stairs from his office. "Let us know when you hear from that Doctor," he says, rising and pushing his chair back to his side of the office. And stepping back out into the war room he walks toward Cooper, sparing a glance off to his left at Liz and the baby girl he knows is on her screen, unseen to anyone outside their office.

And outside in the war room, Ressler is at Aram's desk, looking at the overhead monitors as more information comes in. And he's torn. Concentrating on their case, with millions of lives at stake, yet his heart lies with the one woman in his office and the life of her baby girl. And it's while he's got one eye on her and one on Cooper and Aram that he sees the moment something goes very wrong in his office.

As she's breaking down, hand to her mouth he doesn't hear what Aram is saying as he excuses himself. "Be right back," he tells them and doesn't wait for the reply, striding into their office and coming in behind Liz. And it's as he feared. The screen is black. The baby monitor feed has been cut and Liz words resound in the small space.

"I'm begging you! Bring her back!" she cries, futilely looking at the blank screen.

He's at her side as his hand finds her shoulder. "What happened?" he asks, almost dreading the answer.

"I trusted him!" she cries, pressing keys on the keyboard in an attempt to regain the feed.

"Liz, we can't trust what Kirk says," he tells her gently, leaning down to her as her breath hitches in his ears.

"No! I trusted Tom and he just walked in there!" she cries, waving her hand to the screen. "Kirk shut down the feed at Tom's incursion, and now she's gone!"

And now he realizes what's happened. Damn the man. "Shit. I'm sorry, Liz."

"I need some air," she says and he doesn't hesitate and walks with her to the elevator, ignoring the concerned looks from Aram and Cooper.

Punching the button on the elevator he rides up with her as her tears flow. "I told him! Damn it, I told him not to do anything!" Her sobs overtake her words for a moment as the elevator comes to a stop in the parking lot. And as always happens when they come up from the windowless Post Office, it's always somewhat of a surprise to find daylight above.

His hand finds her waist as he guides her away from the two guards at the door, walking with her toward the street level as the light increases. There are less vehicles over here and they are relatively alone. Hands wiping her cheeks, she's shaking her head. "Now I can't see her! I don't know where Kirk will take her!"

"Why the hell did he go in there?" he asks, but kicks himself. She doesn't know that any more than he does. And as Liz sobs in front of him, he'd like to give Tom Keen a piece of his mind. Or a fist. Whichever gets the point across.

"I trusted him! I literally spoke to him minutes before and I thought he understood we weren't tracing the feed!" She cries, pacing near him and rubbing her arms. "I had a plan too!"

She stops suddenly, standing there helplessly. "I can't take much more of this, Ress. I really…" Face crumpling, she sobs fresh tears as she seeks him out with her bloodshot eyes.

And his arms are around her, finding her back with his hands, holding her close against him as she shakes. Wrapping her hands around his waist, she clings to him. "Ssshh," he whispers, slipping right back into comforting mode as he's done before. "I know. I'm right here…"

Her arms grip him tighter as he rocks her gently. And he can't even allow himself to think of what Tom Keen has done to her as he offers her a shoulder to cry on. A place to let it all out.

"We'll find her, I promise," he tells her softly, his mouth close to her ear. "We will, Liz." And not even the prospect of the nuclear annihilation of New York is going to stop him.

"I believe you," she sobs, her tears wetting his shirt collar as he holds her tight.

As she shakes against him, he talks softly in her ear. "She's beautiful," he whispers, "Your baby girl. Your little princess…we're gonna find her, Liz." And he's not even sure what he says as he pictures the baby on the monitor earlier, sound asleep in her basinet and then taking her bottle. But his words have the desired affect and slowly she calms and her shakes subside. She draws back from him a little, and slipping from around his waist her hands come up and cup both of his cheeks.

"Thank you, Ress," she says through her tearstained face. "I don't know what I'd do without you. I really don't…"

His hands find her wrists and he has to stop himself from turning and kissing her palm as he holds her hands. She's close against him, and all he wants to do is protect her. Find her child and place Agnes back in her arms. And he'll do it. That's a promise he makes to himself as her hands move down to his chest, slipping out from under his own hands.

"Thank you," she repeats, patting his chest.

Wiping her eyes, she exhales heavily. "Okay, I think I can go back in now," she tells him, still resting one hand on his chest. He feels it with each rise and fall of his chest with every breath he takes.

He slips his arm around her waist again as she stands beside him and tips her head into him.

He doesn't want to head back down, but they need to. "Let's go save the world, shall we?" she says and he is rewarded by a soft smile behind her red rimmed eyes as she looks up at him.

He nods to her, nudging her toward the elevator. First he'll save the world and then he'll save one small infant, he promises himself.


	7. Best Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after the events of 4x04 Gaia, right after Liz storms out after arguing with Tom.

It's been a long day, and Ressler's brain won't shut down. After the jet had landed back in DC, he and Samar had a quick briefing with Cooper and the team before he'd headed home for the day. Between them all they had literally saved the world, just as he and Liz had joked earlier in the day. But still it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Yes, they'd saved millions but Ayers had a son, and now that little boy will grow up without a father. Today has been about children and parents, whether it be a little boy and his daddy, a million nameless children saved from nuclear annihilation, or a missing little girl and her mother.

Entering his apartment he briefly considers a beer and the newspaper, but then just as quickly dismisses that idea. Apart from the fact the biggest story of the day will never make the newspaper, what he needs is to run. And run hard. Clear out the thoughts from a mind that won't shut down and let his body take the lead. Running until muscles quiver with exertion has been one of his preferred methods of clearing his head for most of his life. And today is no different.

Slipping his tie off and dropping it to his bed, shoes are kicked off before his suit is removed and hung up. Changing into track pants and a t-shirt then donning running shoes, he momentarily looks to the corner of his room. A corner where a little dog had slept while Liz had been a fugitive. He misses that little four-legged dude who'd become his running mate. Heading to the kitchen, he fills his water bottle, grabs his keys and heads for the front door. The park is calling his name. Just two blocks south, the wide running path will be clear this time of night as people head home for suppers and to put children in bed.

Opening the door and flipping off the light behind him, intent on his goal he suddenly collides with an unseen Liz in the hallway, pulling him up short.

"What the-"

"Whoa! Sorry!" she cries and briefly holds his arm before stepping back from him. "Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you like that!"

Recovering and raising his own hand to her arm, he looks at her in concern. "What are you doing here? Are you okay?"

Exhaling heavily, she shakes her head. "I don't know. I've been standing here a couple of minutes wondering if I should knock." She takes in his attire and water bottle. "But I see you have plans, so I'll just…go."

Holding her arm he prevents her from leaving. "No, it's okay, come on in," he says, already retrieving his keys to unlock his door again.

"Are you sure?"

"Liz, get inside," he tells her, holding the door open for her as they enter his apartment.

"What's going on?" he asks, dropping his water bottle and keys to the table by the door.

"I just needed to get out for a bit. That place we're in, it's like living in a doll house. I feel like Reddington's men are just staring in the windows."

Ressler nods, motioning to the living room. "I hear ya. I don't know how you have stood that. I couldn't do that," he agrees.

"Like we're puppets," she says, not sitting down. "Of a high functioning…but you know what he is."

"Liz he's only doing this to keep you safe while we find Kirk. You know that. Once this is over-"

"It will never be over!" she replies, cutting him off as her voice rises. He nods, seeing the anger bubble up in her. "Until I have my daughter back and I am out of Reddington's shadow, this will never be over!"

"I get that, I know," he replies.

"And Tom! That man infuriates me! What he pulled today could have cost me the chance to find my daughter quickly!"

His hand finds her arm again, "Look, Liz, why don't you sit down? And we'll talk," he offers, but there is no sitting for her as she steps away and paces around his living room.

"Have you ever loved someone, but you don't like what they've done?" she asks, pacing in his living room and shaking her head.

And seeing her before him having returned from a death he'd mourned, Ressler knows exactly how that feels. "Is this a test?" he asks, not wanting to commit to that answer.

But consumed in her own thoughts and anger, Liz doesn't even hear him. "I told him not to do anything, and what does he do?! Exactly what I told him not to!"

Ressler stands by the window, wanting to reach out to her, yet also aware that she needs to burn this anger off. "Liz, I-"

Her words punch into the air, breath hissing through her teeth. "A friend of his from the past. Seriously? We're just going to have his old buddies show up any time he wants to run off and go rogue? Damn him!" She strides past him, breath coming in sharp pants as she shakes her head. "I swear, if this hurts Agnes!"

Ressler decides that keeping quiet is his best course of action right now.

"Damn him! He can't just run off with guns blazing into every situation! Not everything can be solved that way!" she hisses, her eyes flashing.

He shakes his head, with her in spirit if not in spoken words.

"And if he's hurt her!" Liz exclaims and Ressler isn't sure if she means Tom or Kirk, but either option is as bad as the other. His hand reaches for her again, but slides off her arm as she strides past him.

"I can't have him just taking the law into his own hands every time he wants to be the hero! It's about communication, and working together and doing what's right for Agnes!" Her teeth grit as she turns to him. "You knew!"

"I didn't know Tom was going to-"

But not letting him get a word in edge ways she continues. "YOU knew we shouldn't trace the feed!"

"Right," he says softly. He did know that. Score one for the boy scout.

"Why didn't HE know that?! Why did he have to be GI Joe and go on a damn raid?!" she huffs out, running a hand through her hair.

And now Ressler decides it's time. "Because it's who he is. He's a hot head, Liz. He's reckless."

His words pull her up short. "Yes. That's who he is. I am married to a-"

Ressler treads carefully. "You're not married to him though."

"It doesn't take a piece of paper, Ressler! We're married for all intents and purposes! We have a child!"

Holding his hands up to appease her he nods silently. Silence is definitely his best option here.

"Or we don't have a child! She should be home in her own crib, where I can go and feed her and hold her and… and… Damn it!" Angry tears threaten as she turns from him, running her hand through her hair. "And I can't do any of that!"

Taking a step to her, Ressler reaches again with his hand but she steps out of reach once more. "I just want to hit something! Preferably Alexander Kirk!" She turns back to him, eyes ablaze. "Or Tom! But he'd likely hit back!"

At that Ressler grabs her arm. "Liz!" he tells her sharply.

"I don't know what to do, Ress! Everyone keeps pulling me this way and that way and no one lets me be ME!" she cries, close to him as he holds her arm.

"I know," he tells her. "I know, Liz." And he does know. He's seen it for years. "You still want to hit something?" he asks, and at her desperate eyes and set of her jaw he knows that look. He nods, moves to her side and leads her to his spare room. "Then be my guest," he tells her, opening the door to reveal his makeshift gym inside. Which mainly consists of a few weights and the centerpiece to the room. The well-worn punching bag hanging from the ceiling.

"This bag has had several names. Most times it's Reddington," he tells her, swinging his fist at the bag and feeling the satisfying thwack as his fist hits it and the heavy bag moves slightly away from him. "Other times it's been Tom," he adds, letting his fist fly again. "But right now it can be Kirk. Or Tom. Or both."

Turning back to her, he smiles. "Knock yourself out. Or knock Kirk or Tom out. Take your pick." And she doesn't need to be asked twice. Moving to stand behind the bag, he steadies it for her as she steps up to it.

Removing her jacket and tossing it to the floor, she sizes up the bag, running her hands over the solid canvas form. She takes a small hit to get the feel of it, then stands firm and lets her right fist fly. And with each hit from both of her fists, Ressler feels the bag move further into him as she increases the pressure. He holds the bag silently, letting her pummel into it. And watching her expend her anger into the bag, he knows how she feels. Knows the necessity of sometimes just having to hit and hit hard.

Breath heaving, tears threatening she punches the bag silently, with not enough breath to both punch hard and hurl insults to her wayward husband and the man who has her child. Ressler stays near her in silent support letting her go until with one last huge hit she stops. Chest heaving and hands resting at her side she focuses on him. "I needed that," she gasps, still catching her breath.

"Best therapy known to man," he tells her, smiling. "And woman," he adds, letting go of the bag.

"My gosh, yes!" she tells him, as a smile breaks through. "I need to get me one of these!"

"Hey, it's here any time you feel the need for more therapy," he tells her, stooping to pick up her jacket for her before they exit the room.

"Thank you," she tells him, then realizes something. "Oh, but I interrupted your run. I'm sorry."

But watching her pummel his punching bag helped him also. As if he were also powering into it and letting the tension of the day dissipate with each slam of her fist. "Wanna join me? We can take a light run and a walk around the park and just get some air before I drive you home," he asks.

"I'd like that. Just let me go clean up and I'll be right back," she tells him, stepping around him to his bathroom.

###

Ten minutes later they enter the park under a moonlit sky. "There's our super moon," she tells him, looking up at the glowing orb in the night sky. "It really does look much bigger."

Walking beside her in the quiet evening, the only sounds the traffic beyond the trees in the park, he gazes at the yellow moon. "It is bigger. 16% closer to the earth than usual," he tells her as she glances sideways at him.

"You been taking lessons from Aram?" she chuckles, before returning to look at the beautiful sight in the night sky. "That doctor I spoke to from the university today said it was the closest full moon so far this century. It won't be this close to the Earth again until 2034."

He grins at her, "Now who sounds like Aram?" he says, but he has to admit, it's kinda cool in a nerdy sort of way. Dancing in front of him she turns, running backward, "Let's go!" she calls and turns, taking off jogging in front of him.

With a smile he follows her, running at an easy pace around the familiar park. He could run this path blindfold; he's done it that many times. And together they run, him holding back just a little in his stride as she keeps pace with him. The few people still out jogging give them a conspiratorial nod as they pass them, each intent on putting one foot in front of the other in the quiet evening. Two laps of the park and they both slow, coming to stop near the clock in the center of the park. Uncapping his water bottle, surprised it still has some ice in it, he offers it to her. Squirting it in her mouth, the water drips down her front but she doesn't mind, and taking the bottle he takes a drink as their breathing calms.

"I'd run here every night if this was near me," she says, surveying the moonlit landscape. "It's perfect," she smiles. Capping the water bottle again, they move off at a walk as a gentle breeze wafts over them, ruffling her hair. She slips her arm into his elbow as they stroll, dividing their attention between the bright moon overhead and the tree lined path before them.

"I used to run here with Hudson," he says, and she lets out an 'aaaww,' as he continues. "That little dude might have short legs but he can run," he smiles.

"I miss him. I'm sure he's happy staying with Ellie right now, but I so want a normal life with the house, baby and dog," she replies.

"And the husband?" he asks, not sure if he should mention him, but hey, she did leave him out of her happy equation.

"Ugh, the husband. He's the one in the dog house right now, not Hudson," she groans, looking up at him again. "But I think he's safe from me not killing him when I get home tonight," she adds.

"Good. I'd hate to have to visit you in jail again," he deadpans and she chuckles beside him.

"Yeah, let's not do that again."

Rounding a bend in the path, they come across the small pond in front of them. Catching the reflection of the moon, the soft ripples are alive with the white streak shining across the water.

"Oh, that's beautiful," she breathes, halting a moment to take in the view.

And she's got her arm in his, leaning into him. "It is," he agrees, and he's not only talking about the moon on the water.

"You're so lucky to have this right by you," she tells him, unable to drag her eyes off the pond. "And I think this adds to your therapy regime too," she smiles.

"It was one of the main selling points for me when I got the apartment years ago," he tells her. They continue their walk, passing the small pond and turning a little as the wide path meanders through the trees. In front of them, a middle aged man comes up the path and huffs past them. As he disappears behind them Liz leans into him. "That guy just needs to stop and enjoy the view. Or chill out," she smiles.

He nods in agreement, glancing down at her again. "He obviously doesn't have a punching bag at home."

She laughs, and holds his arm tighter. "So how often do you use that thing to ease that inner rage? It looks well worn."

"You profiling me?" he asks as she shakes her head and smiles up at him in reply. "Probably more than you'd imagine," he admits. "I about tore it off the ceiling while hunting Reddington. Then here and there on hard cases." He pauses, then decides to come clean. "Again on one really bad day. And then a lot while you were…dead."

She stops and turns to him on the wooded path as the moon shines down on them. "I'm sorry. You know that, right?"

"I do," he tells her, nodding. "You were desperate and I get that."

Tilting her head a little she gives him a sad smile. "I think you understand pain more than most, Ress. And I never wanted to contribute to that for you."

"I know," he tells her. "I'll live." And he smiles, looks up at the moon above them and back at her.

"So, the really bad day you mentioned," she asks as they resume their walk under the trees. "What happened that time?"

And his mind slides back to months before when life had reached rock bottom. When there was no escaping the pain running through his veins. Yet with the passage of time, even the greatest of hurts can settle and become distant memories. And recalling that day, when he'd never thought he'd be able to look back on those events without pain, he looks down at her as they walk together and he smiles.

"Well, it involved your husband. And a garden gnome."

And as she folds into him, her laughter peeling out around him, he grins and holds onto her, unable to fathom the difference in how he felt that day and how he feels now.

As her laughter subsides her eyes hold his as they walk together. "Oh, now this I have to hear!"


	8. I Should Have Been There

_(So... it's been so long since I posted a chapter that I almost forgot my login (just kidding!) But yeah, it's been a while. And rather than go back and try and catch up, I'm going to stop feeling so guilty about not posting for so many episodes and just start again from Isabella Stone 4x13. It's just been difficult to write in the current show environment. And this is just a short chapter, just to 'get my feet wet' again, based on a prompt from Aomine-Dajki on Tumblr, who asked me to write something on this episode the day after it aired. It starts right at the end of the episode, after Ressler breaks down._

* * *

"He's my brother. I should have been there," he tells Samar again, brushing past her and exiting the office, done talking with her. And it's not because she doesn't care, because she's shown concern all day. But because he's shown more than enough to her. Opened up too much. Time to shut it down, bury it again and get back to the job at hand. The job… _'whether Reddington is involved or not, it's your job.'_

And concentrating on his brother, the words from his mother on the phone and Raymond damn Reddington, he turns the corner only to collide full into Liz with a gasp.

"Whoa!" she exclaims, dropping a file folder and spilling its contents all over the floor. "What's the hurry," she grins, stepping back a little and then stops as she meets his eyes. "Ress?"

He holds her gaze for a mere second before dropping his eyes, trying in vain to dry his cheeks while bending down to pick up the strewn papers. Breathing harder than normal, he picks up the papers in an unsteady hand and gives them to her.

She squats down, holds his arm as she takes the papers from him. "What is it?" she asks, searching his face that is now raised to her again.

He's close to her, crouched on the floor with her beside him. And all resolve to bury the day almost flies away in that single glance into her blue eyes. "It's, uh… I'm fine." Eyes dropping as a fresh round of tears blur them, he sniffs, stands up and shakes his head in frustration at his apparent weakness. No. He's stronger than this. He steps aside, wanting to head for the men's room just to get some privacy, but she rises and stops him, gripping his arm. As he turns back to her mid stride, she shakes her head.

"No, you're not walking away from me on this, Ress. Come on." He offers no resistance as she guides him back into their office that he's just vacated and closes the door quickly behind them. Through the blinds he notices Samar at her desk looking up in his direction, giving him the smallest of nods.

"Tell me," Liz urges as he leans on the desk, right where he was moments ago after talking to his mother on the phone.

And suddenly all he wants to do is tell her, and talk to her. He pauses, takes a breath, and just as she's prompting him again, he speaks. "My brother had surgery this morning," he begins, as a wayward tear rolls unchecked down his cheek.

"Oh my gosh, is he…is he okay?" she asks, leaning closer to him.

Nodding, he brushes the tear away with his thumb as she leans on the desk close beside him, her arm against his.

"He's fine, but I... I should have been there for him today, and for mom."

"You were working though," she says softly, and a small grimace forms on his lips as he shakes his head slowly. Of course he was working. He's always working.

"Yeah, I was. And for what?" He turns to her, meets her eyes as they sit close together. "For what, Liz? Reddington? We work for him, you know that, right?"

In reply, her arm slips around his waist. She nods. She knows, better than anyone. "What surgery did he have?" she asks, leaning into him, guiding the conversation back to his brother.

"Heart bypass," he tells her, wiping the tears again. "It was all very quick," he replies, sniffing and shaking his head, as if to shake the need for tears away. "He was fine, and then he wasn't. His wife called the ambulance. She thought he was having a heart attack."

"I'm sorry," she whispers, subconsciously rubbing his back.

"I should have been there, Liz," he exhales with a shaking breath. "But somewhere along the line I let my job become my priority. I can blame Reddington all I like, but the truth is, it's not his fault," he tells her, meeting her eyes again. Eyes that now threaten tears of her own as she holds her arm around him.

"It's hard, I know," she whispers, dropping her head as the tear does roll free. "Believe me, I know, Ress." Brushing her tears away, she meets his eyes again. "I'm sorry. For your brother, yes, but I'm sorrier that I haven't been here for you." And at that, her tears flow again. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

His own arm slips around her and they sit together, holding the other. Holding their friend. Something they have both missed, both yearned for and both spent far too long ignoring these past weeks.

Liz speaks softly to him again. "I've been so caught up in everything, with the baby, with… Tom. Since I came back to work, it's like I've forgotten how to talk to all of you. To you especially, Ress. And I'm sorry you've had this going on and I didn't know. I should have been there for you."

And it's his turn to give her a squeeze with his arm around her. He's missed her. This Liz. Not the one who works on cases and goes home to her baby each night. Goes home to… him. This Liz is his friend. The one who understands. The one he's needed for two days yet couldn't reach for.

"I finally understand what it feels like," he says quietly. "I didn't want him to be there for me when I…after the Anslo Garrick incursion," he tells her, exhaling heavily again. "I didn't even have them as my emergency contact…" He stops, recalling that hospital stay. "As soon as they heard, they wanted to come, but I told them I was fine and didn't need them taking time off work to come to D.C. and sit with me in a hospital." He shakes his head, then meets her eyes again. "And yet my first thought when mom called yesterday morning was that I needed to be there." She rubs his back, letting him talk. "I didn't realize until this how hard that would have been on them. They had needed to be with me as much as I needed to be with him today. But I didn't GET that three years ago."

"You get it now though," she tells him gently, rubbing his back.

He nods. He does get it now. Family comes first. Family and friends. And those who we love yet can never show them just how much we love them. They're still sitting quietly together, arms around each other as the lights in the war room dim as the last agents leave for the day and the elevator announces their departure.

"But see, I thought I had learned. After Audrey died I came right back to work. Then later, I knew that was wrong. That this job…" He pauses, remembering the night he'd had that conversation with Samar. But he's not going there.

"It's hard to have a normal life with this job, and Reddington, and all of the drama and the secrecy we must maintain," Liz finishes as he nods in agreement.

"That's why you did what you did," he says quietly. "It was the only way out that you could see."

She sighs, leans into him and whispers her apologies again. "But it didn't work out too good, did it?" she asks. He doesn't need to answer that one.

"Ress," she says softly, "You know I care about you, right?"

He knows she does, and he can't answer that because he does more than care for her. He simply rubs her back in reply.

Leaning into him, she gives him a smile. "I know I don't always show it, but I do love you."

His heart jumps, but he maintains his composure as well as he can at that. "I know," he tells her, giving her his best Han Solo with a tiny smile. Because he can't tell her that he loves her too. Because his love is far deeper. Hers may be a love borne of friendship and partnership, but down in the depths of his being, his love rests on his future dreams. A future that's been looking darker every day she is with… him.

She rubs his back and leaning close, gives him a soft kiss on his cheek. All he can do is return her gaze. Because he can't return the kiss. It would hurt too much.

And knowing perhaps how he feels, she smiles and changes the subject. "Have you eaten today?" she asks him, to which he shakes his head. Food had been the last thing on his mind. Not even Samar's fancy meal of filet mignon in Monte Carlo had spiked his appetite. He'd simply sat with her so she didn't eat alone, sipping on coffee. Liz's words bring him back to the present. "Because while you were gone today, James over in accounting brought pizza in for everyone. There is still some left in the break room." She pats his back and looks up at him. "Shall we?"

Pizza. Not exactly filet mignon. He musters up a smile, brushes his cheeks once more, perhaps lingering a little longer over the spot she had kissed and stands up with her. "Sure," he tells her. And it's not the pizza he's wanting. It's just to sit with her for a while longer before returning to his quiet apartment. And together they make their way out of their office and through the darkened war room to the break room, each easy in the others company.

Work may come first, but work isn't always about the job, he realizes, and her eyes shining back at him over their shared meal echo the same sentiment. And even despite the pain, it's the best he's felt in two days.


	9. Trust Me

_So 419 was such a brilliant Ressler and Keenler episode, that I just had to write more on their amazing scene together! So it takes place right after he's arrested at Hitchin's home._

* * *

Ressler can't think anymore. Not one logical thought can form in his brain, as much as he tries. The only sound in his head is the steady throbbing as pain radiates through his head with every beat of his heart. All he can do is blink in the twilight as the red and blue lights of law enforcement vehicles surround him as he's being led away from Laurel Hitchin's home. And he's not just being led away. He's in handcuffs. He's been arrested by the Secret Service. And again, it almost hurts his brain to try and think about that. So he walks steadily, feeling the Agent's hand on his bicep, leading him through the throng to a waiting black SUV. Of course. All official government cars are black SUV's. Score one for the coherent thought, he muses.

As he approaches the vehicle, a driver gets out and opens the rear door for him. As his handler tells him to get in, he manages to sit in the back seat without banging his head on the door frame. No mean feat when his hands are cuffed behind him, and his balance is not quite where it should be. As the door is slammed shut behind him, he's momentarily alone, sitting in the back seat behind the empty driver's seat, tuned in to the throbbing in his head.

And with his eyes unfocused on the seat back in front of him, time seems to slow. He's alone, sitting with hands squashed behind him in cuffs, unable to bring them forward to a more comfortable position. He's in the custody of the Secret Service. Their prisoner. Because he almost shot Laurel Hitchin.

He doesn't notice the vehicle arriving and pulling up close by. Just another black SUV among many. But what he does recognize as it breaks through the rhythmic throbbing in his brain and visions of Laurel Hitchin is the voice outside the car window. Harold Cooper.

"And I'm telling you, he is my responsibility. I am his superior, and you will release him to my custody."

Ressler raises his head, peering into the flashing lights through the rear window across from him, wincing at the harsh lights. He can vaguely make out the large form of Cooper talking with the SS Agent who had arrested him.

"That's not possible, sir. He threatened the President's National Security Advisor. That makes his case our jurisdiction," the agent informs him, standing his ground.

"Have you heard nothing of what has happened here? Agent Ressler was not in his right mind. His memory had been manipulated by a man we now have in custody. Agent Ressler needs medical assistance. He does not need to be marched off to your detention cell."

Ressler is impressed, despite the throbbing in his temples. And suddenly surprised by a knocking on his own window. He turns away from Cooper and looks through his own window, right into the eyes of Liz. He can't wind down the window, nor open the door. He sees as she tries, but the vehicle is locked. She cups her hands to the window to get a better look at him among the flashing lights. She doesn't say anything, but instead holds up a small handwritten note.

"We're going to get you out of here."

He views the note, reading the words, but is unsure how they're going to achieve that. And looking at her, she mouths the words "Trust me." He nods again, ignoring the throbbing that ignites in his head at the movement. She flashes a smile to him, places her hand to the window in support, and then is gone.

And all he can hear in his mind now is 'Ressler, look at your hand.' And in slow motion, it plays out in his mind again. He didn't understand why she needed him to look at his own hand, yet her voice had steadied him. She had told him to trust her, and he'd complied. Her words dance around his brain, coming into focus and then drifting again. And the one thing he had clung to was her fingers on his hand, coming into contact with him and steadying him as he had looked at his hand and seen what she was telling him. The obvious site of an IV on the back of his hand had made him falter. Suddenly things were not so clear. She was telling him his mind had been manipulated and false memories planted. "It's not your fault. You're the victim here." How could that even be possible?

But the evidence was there. Vague flashes of being strapped down. Of a helmet of sorts placed over his head. Fleeting images that didn't feel real. And his eyes focused on the red mark on his hand again. He had been drugged against his will, and fed false information. And his gun hand had dropped as he'd stepped back, unsure and feeling more out of control than he ever had before. It was a feeling he never wanted to experience again.

He looks to the window again, hoping to still see her there, but she is no longer there. Instead, as he turns to where Cooper is on the other side of the vehicle, he sees her silhouetted beside their boss.

"If you won't listen to me, perhaps you'll listen to someone higher up," Cooper is telling the SS Agent, handing him his phone.

The Agent falters, then nods, speaking into Cooper's phone. "Ms Panabaker. Yes, ma'am." He listens to the woman, then responds, "I don't like this, but I respect your decision. Custody will be given to the FBI. Yes. You too, ma'am." He hangs up and gives Cooper his phone back. "I don't understand what pull you have in D.C, but Agent Ressler is all yours."

Cooper nods, thanks the man and orders him to release Ressler. And suddenly the door beside Ressler is opened, and arms are gently pulling him out of the back seat. He stumbles a little, leans on his boss and turns as the SS Agent uncuffs him.

"Agent Ressler, for what it's worth, I do hope you get the medical attention you need," the Agent tells him, and for a moment, Ressler believes the guy.

"But make no mistake. You will be held responsible for holding Ms Hitchin at gunpoint."

He nods to the guy, stands up straighter and feels Cooper's hand on his right bicep. "Agent Ressler, come with me." It's not really an option, and Ressler walks beside Cooper, as Liz falls in beside them. She hooks her arm through his elbow as they walk. And it's not that he's going to keel over, he knows that. He's being supported by them, and not just physically.

"Don, are you okay?" Cooper asks him quietly.

"Yeah, I think so," he replies, taking in steady breaths of the fresh air around him, attempting to clear the fogginess and throbbing in his head.

"I'd like the medic to check you before we head back," Cooper tells him as they approach the back of a waiting ambulance.

Ressler knows the drill only too well and sits on the back step. And as soon as he does, the medic is right there, shining a bright pencil light into his eyes. He shuts them against the painful light.

"I'm sorry, sir, I just need to check your pupil response. It will just take a moment,"

Ressler opens his eyes and keeps them open while the medic shines the light, then moves it away, then back again, checking his eyes.

"Looks good, sir, no dilation there," he tells him, before reaching for a wrist blood pressure cuff. He unbuttons Ressler's shirt sleeve to put it on. Ressler sits while the sleeve pumps up, taking his blood pressure. Meanwhile the medic is placing a pulse-ox on his other index finger.

"Your vitals look okay. BP is a little high, but that's to be expected after the day you've had, sir."

Ressler nods, rubbing his temples.

Do you have a headache?" the medic asks.

"Yes," Ressler replies, glancing to Liz who is standing right behind and to the side of the medic. Cooper is on the other side of her.

"Hardly surprising. From what I understand they pumped you full of Propofol, an anesthetic and Tramadol, a pain reliever. The side effects of that are a headache and dehydration. I would suggest an IV of saline, but…" he looks back at Cooper, "it would appear that you need to vacate these premises, so perhaps where you are being taken to can accommodate that."

But all Ressler really hears is that he's been pumped full of anesthetic and pain meds today. And that is more than a little alarming, given his past history.

From behind the medic, Cooper nods. "We'll take care of him. Is he okay to travel now?"

The medic smiles, closes his kit and nods to Cooper. "Yes, he's fine. Get fluids into him and let him rest."

Ressler fights the urge to tell them he is right there and can be told that himself but Liz's words come to the fore again "you're the victim here," and he stays silent. Being the victim sucks.

###

It's dark by the time they make their way into the parking lot of the Post Office. And Ressler doesn't remember much of the drive from Hitchin's house to the Post Office. Partly because his mind was trying to piece together the division between reality and false memory. And partly because he had dozed off, leaning against the head rest as Cooper had driven him. Apparently the Propofol and Tramadol have not entirely exited his system.

As they arrive, he's awake as Liz opens the passenger door for him, and stands aside as he exits. He's steady on his feet, and fine, apart from the headache and walks beside her and Cooper to the elevator. The one thing he is thankful for is that Cooper had not kept him in cuffs. Cooper is on the phone as he strides to the elevator.

"We're here, are you ready?" He listens, nods and thanks the person on the other end then hangs up.

As they enter the elevator, Ressler is curious. "Where will you be holding me?"

And Cooper doesn't have time to answer that as the elevator doors open and they are greeted by Cynthia Panabaker. Arms folded, she does not look in the mood to argue.

"Welcome back, Agent Ressler. I trust my call to keep you out of the clutches of the Secret Service is not one I'm going to live to regret."

Ressler stands before her and looks her in the eye. "No ma'am. And thank you."

She turns to Cooper, "Harold I don't know what in hell happened here today, but you had better explain this to me. Memory manipulation? False memories planted to make him want to kill Laurel Hitchin? Seriously, I feel like I've been sideswiped by a Mack Truck on I-40."

Cooper smiles, and tries to placate the woman. "Just give me a few minutes to get Agent Ressler settled and then I'll meet you in my office."

Panabaker nods, then stands back to let them through.

Ressler is led to the interrogation cell near the elevator. It's the one he had questioned Cooper in after Liz had shot Connolly, though it bears no resemblance to that stark cell now. A cot with clean sheets and blankets has been moved in. A recliner also. And they are greeted by an FBI medic, standing beside an IV pole, with his medics bag off to the side.

As Ressler enters the cell, Liz comes in with Cooper. "Don, you are in our custody, and I do need to lock this door, but there is no reason that you can't get the help you need overnight. Dr Simms will see to that.

"I know. I understand that, sir," he tells Cooper, moving to the cot as the medic asks him to please lay down.

He tosses his shoes off, removes his suit jacket and Liz is right beside him, taking it from him and draping it over the back of the recliner. He loosens his tie, not quite ready to remove it, then his top shirt button and lays down on top of the blankets on the cot. Seeing the back of his right hand, the medic takes his left hand in which to place the new IV.

"It will just take a moment, sir, then we can get these fluids into you," the doctor explains, busying himself with the IV. But Ressler isn't listening, as new flashes of memory shoot through his brain. Fleeting glimpses. Not enough to hold onto, but he knows without a doubt this has already been done to him today.

As the doctor finishes and starts up the saline pump, he takes his bag, then exits the cell. "I'll be back in 4 hours when that bag runs out, and check how you're doing, if that's okay."

"It's fine, thank you," Ressler replies nodding from the cot. He raises his eyes to look at Liz, and feels like he should sit, but his body just won't let him anymore. He's exhausted.

She's smiling at him, and pats his shoulder, now serious as she searched his eyes. "I have to go talk with Dr Krilov. We're holding him upstairs, and I'm going to find out what he did to you, and get you cleared of these charges, Ress."

Ressler raises his head, and leans on his elbow. "He's here? Let me talk to that son of a bitch. I wanna know what crap he put in my head."

Cooper is just outside the cell, talking with the doctor and hears Ressler's comment. "No, Don. You're not going to talk with him. I'll have Agent Keen do that. You need to stay here and rest."

"Sir, I need-"

"No, Don. You're in our custody, and that revokes any privileges you have. I don't like this any more than you do, believe me. But better this than have those Secret Service boys locking you up."

And he's right, and Ressler knows that, but still he shakes his head as he drops back down to lay on the cot. Because suddenly he feels like he really can't keep his eyes open for much longer. "I know," he tells his boss. And eyes closing against the throbbing in his head, listening to the whir of the IV pump beside him that is so out of place in the stark Post Office, he falls into an uneasy sleep.

###

When he wakes, he has no idea where he is. He's on a narrow cot, and through the dim lights around him, it appears he's at work, yet why is he laying on a cot…? And then in a rush it comes back, and he sits up, holding his head against the pain at the sudden movement. He swings his legs over the side of the cot and leans on the metal wall behind him. He's in the holding cell. In FBI custody after almost shooting Laurel Hitchin today.

"Shit…" he whispers, as the confusing day comes back to him. His brain is more awake now though, despite the lingering headache. No longer as foggy, he can think clearer. And begins to piece it together. How much was real, and how much was planted. Meeting with Linda McFaden was real, of that much he's sure. But apparently she wasn't a real witness and had been planted by Krilov. Everything was real until he'd fallen unconscious during the attack. He can see at what point they took him. And then nothing was real until he found himself outside Laurel Hitchin's house in his SUV. And it was so obvious, he can't believe he hadn't noticed it before. He had woken up in the SUV outside her house. He'd been asleep. Unconscious. He had WOKEN UP.

"Damn." It's true. He really was taken, had his mind screwed with and set on a course like a trained dog to carry out their bidding. If Liz hadn't been there. If she hadn't have stopped him, he'd be on trial for murdering Laurel Hitchin in cold blood. And that thought is sickening. And right on cue as he's thinking about her, she appears at his cell door.

"Hey, may I come in?" Liz asks and he nods, motioning for her to come in. The door is opened, then locked behind her by unknown hands. She comes straight to him, and sits beside him on the cot, leaning back on the wall beside him.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah, feeling less foggy. You?" he asks, because she seems preoccupied.

She straightens a little and turns toward him. "I spoke with Krilov," she begins, "I wanted everything from him that he'd planted in your memory, or had taken, in order to exonerate you, but he wouldn't give it."

Ressler looks at her. That hadn't even occurred to him. He'd been so intent on what the doctor had added that it never occurred to him something could have been taken also.

"Let me talk to him. I'll get it out of him," Ressler hisses, grimacing at the thought of what the doctor had done to him.

"Not going to happen, Ress," Liz tells him, but he already knows that. "He told me he would give me everything if I offered him full immunity"

"You can't do that!"

"I know. I didn't offer him that," she assures him. She sighs, then leans closer. "Krilov is the same doctor Red hired 25 years ago to wipe my memory as a child. To remove the memory of me killing my father," she confides as he turns more to her.

"Oh, my gosh, Liz. The same doc?"

"Yes…" she says, then adds. "But there is more. He told me earlier that not only did he manipulate my memories 25 years ago, but 2 years ago."

Ressler leans forward at that, and finds her forearm. "Two years ago? What the hell did he put in your head two years ago? And when? When could he have done that?"

"I don't know!" she replies, searching his face. "All I know is what he told me tonight. He told me he'd tell me what he'd done to you, and what he'd taken from me two years ago if I gave him immunity."

"Shit…"

"Reddington told me he's playing with me. That nothing happened two years ago and this is Kaplan trying to unravel things."

"Do you believe that?" Ressler asks her.

"I don't know… Two years ago is when I…"

"Shot Connolly…" Ressler finishes and both search each other's eyes.

"Is it possible they did the same to you with Connolly as they did to me today with Hitchin?"

"I don't know. I just don't know. It completely threw me. He said it was to do with something I'd found out about Reddington… That I was brought to him by a mutual acquaintance and I had some memories stripped."

Ressler leans back again beside her. "Then we're no closer to finding out anything, since we can't offer him immunity."

"Exactly…"

He shifts on the cot, looks down at his hand where Krilov's IV had been. "I would have shot her today."

"But you didn't, Ress."

"Only because you were there and told me what was going on. I was convinced Hitchin was hiding the witness. It was so damn real, Liz."

She pats his knee as she sits beside him. "I know. And unfortunately you will never be able to remember what really happened. Only what they wanted you to believe was happening."

"For someone to have that much control over another person. That's messed up, Liz."

"Yes," she replies, leaning against him. "And now they have done it to you, and I'm so sorry, Ress."

"I'll survive," he reassures her, giving her a small smile.

"Well, we still need to convince the Secret Service that you were not acting of your own free will, so we can get you out from under these charges."

He shifts in the cot a little beside her. "I know." He thinks on the day's events, then turns to her. "How did you find at his lab? How did you know what he'd done?"

She faces him more, leaning against the wall beside him, and explains how they had tracked down Dr Orchard's equipment. He smiles as she explains how she'd got the information out of him.

"Were you really going to inject him with Propofol if he hadn't talked?"

"To get information on you, yes, I would have," she tells him, and he can see she's serious. "I wasn't very pink today," she adds, and now smiles at his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"Pink?" he asks.

She smiles, and explains what Samar had been saying all day. He grins at that. "Then no, you weren't very pink."

Their conversation is interrupted by Dr Simms knocking on the door. "Agent Ressler, I would just like to check you, if I may," he asks poking his head around the door. At Ressler's nod, once more, unseen hands lock the door behind him as the doctor enters.

Liz moves from his side as the doctor checks him, replacing the saline bag that is about to run out. "You seem to be doing well. I might suggest you eat something though and then get more rest."

"I'm not hungry," Ressler replies, as the doctor stands to leave. As he exits, with the cell door locking behind him, Liz turns to him.

"I uh, decided to go talk to this Julian Gale. I figure if I can keep him off our backs, the better for all of us."

Ressler nods to her. "He's convinced you're Reddingtons informant. So convince him you're not."

She leans down to him as he's still sitting on the cot. "I'll try. And you need to get some rest, and when I'm done with Gale at the ice rink, I'm going to get us some food and I'll be back in a couple of hours to eat with you," she smiles.

"I'm not hungry," he repeats, to which she shakes her head.

"I wasn't asking. I was telling you, I'm going to bring us back some food to eat."

He gives up. He can't argue with her. "Yes, ma'am," he smiles, then lays down on the cot again as she exits.

And he's tired again. That damn Propofol is still floating around his system, hours later. And once again he falls into an uneasy sleep. But this time there is a difference. In his dreams and flashes of incoherent thoughts and memories, one memory shines through calming him each time.

One memory that was not false, but was entirely real. Of Liz placing her hand on his, and her gentle words of "Trust me." Of him seeking her out when all was crumbling around him, and landing on her eyes and trusting her completely as he lowered his weapon.

He may never know what memories were altered and what may have been taken. But her doing that for him is one memory he will never forget.


	10. Holding Cell

_Just a bonus chapter to 4x19, after that amazing episode with Ressler's mind manipulation._

* * *

It's almost midnight when Liz returns to the post office, descending in the elevator, carrying two meals in a takeaway plastic bag. The place is still deserted, save for the cell near the elevator containing her partner, and the guard posted outside. As she approaches, the guard turns to her then asks for her ID, even though he knows darn well who she is and that she has clearance. Just being ultra-careful, she knows, and is actually very reassured that Ressler is safe in his cell. As the guard opens the metal door, Liz steps into the holding cell to find a very different Ressler than the one she left 2 hours ago.

"You're back," he huffs, pacing around the small room, running his hand across the back of his neck. Shirt sleeves rolled up, tie off, top two buttons of his shirt undone, and said shirt not so neatly tucked into his waistband anymore. He looks like he's done a few rounds in a boxing ring.

"What the-" she says, quickly putting the plastic bag with their meals aside and stepping to him swiftly. "What's wrong?" she asks but at the look in his eyes, she knows immediately, reaching to hold his upper arm. "Oh, Ress…"

###

Ressler had known the moment it started. Sleep had overtaken him for hours after being drugged, while the meds still were still circulating in his bloodstream. But as his eyes sprang open after a vivid dream, he knew something was different. And as his eyes focused in the semi dark, he knew immediately what it was. The drugs they'd pumped him full of were starting to leave his system. And his body was missing them.

He rises to his feet, unable to stay on his back a moment longer. The first thing to go is his tie, followed by the second button on his shirt. Instinctively he tries to pace, but is pulled up short by the IV in the back of his left hand. With a wrench of the tape off his hand and the plastic tubing from his vein, he makes short work of that hindrance.

After a visit to the small cubicle in the cell that houses the toilet and small sink, he splashes cool water on his face, then towels his face and hands dry with paper towels. He knows this feeling isn't permanent. It's not going to last all that long at all. But the fact that his nerves are on edge wanting more of the good stuff is more than he can take after today.

"Don't you dare. Don't go there," he admonishes himself under his breath, as if his nerves and body were a separate entity to his brain.

He sits on the recliner, but is up again in less than a minute, pacing around his cell. A light sheen of sweat forms on his forehead as he walks briskly in the confined space. He considers asking the guard if he can go get a shower and a change of clothes, then dismisses that thought. The guard would mostly likely allow it, since he's not in here for murder, but Ressler can't stop long enough to parlay with the guy.

"Shit…" he mutters for about the twentieth time, and runs his hand through his hair. Hair that feels a little damp now. It's not like full withdrawal, because Lord knows, he's felt that horror before. This is like restless legs on steroids. Ants crawling around his veins on an endless march in formation that refuse to let him sit or stand still.

"Shit… just stop… stop," he mutters under his breath, hoping that the continued movement will hasten this phase and let everything quiet down. He's on the recliner, and up again, repeating it all over again when the elevator door opens. Liz is back and while pleased to see her, suddenly all he feels is embarrassment.

"You're back," he says as she enters, pacing, unable to stand still. And he sees the moment the understanding flashes in her eyes. She knows.

"Oh, Ress…"

He turns his head from her, looking downward. "I'm fine, it will pass. Really, it's not that bad." And it's really NOT that bad. Not compared to full on muscle cramps, doubled over and throwing up that he's experienced in the past.

"I'm sorry they did this to you. I really am," she tells him, her hand still on his arm.

And it strikes him as funny because for a little while he'd almost forgotten why it was that he felt this way, being too occupied with the fact he DID feel this way. They had drugged him, not him. They did this to him. He wasn't weak and didn't relapse and didn't seek out anesthetic and pain pills today. Someone else did this to him. But that's little comfort as his nerves start up again and he needs to walk. "Sorry," he whispers as he pulls away from her to continue his track around the cell.

"I brought you food, if that would help?" she offers.

He looks to the white plastic bag, and makes out the red logo on it 'Wing Yee Chinese Restaurant'. And part of him wants to hug her at the thought of it. At the memory of the last time they shared it. And the other part looks at the confined cell, and what he's done today after having shot a Secret Service Agent and threatened Laurel Hitchin. But she's made this effort, and he appreciates that more than she knows.

"What, no wine?" he asks, and manages a smile, attempting to focus more on her instead of the ants who are apparently making a coordinated food run down his spine and legs. Wine might actually calm him, but he dismisses that thought immediately. He's not going to push more crap into his system right now.

She gives him a small smile, knowing he's trying for her. "Sorry, all out tonight. May I interest you in an Evian water, bottled a few weeks ago instead?" she grins, holding up a bottle of water as if it's an expensive bottle of wine.

"Perfect," he tells her, then puts his hand to his belly, where a second unit of ants are making a charge for cover. "I'm not…ready though," he tells her, turning and continuing his walking.

"What can I do to help?" she asks, standing in the middle of the cell beside the recliner as he walks around her.

He stops, runs a hand through his hair and answers. "I think a shower would help, but I doubt that's gonna happen," he tells her, motioning with his chin toward the guard outside, before resuming his pacing.

"Hold that thought," she replies, then knocks on the door to have it opened by the guard, "and you can ask him."

The guard enters, looks to Liz first as she is by the door, "Yes?"

Spying Ressler's rather disheveled appearance, he leans in a little more, but still keeps the door mostly closed. "Sir, are you okay? You don't look …" at a loss for the right word, he opts for silence.

Ressler steps toward the guard, ignoring the awkward silence. "I'm fine. But I'd like to take a shower and get a change of clothes. I don't think I'm that much of a danger to anyone where that would be a problem, right?" he tells the guard.

After a brief hesitation, in which it would be patently obvious to anyone that Ressler could do with a shower, the guard answers. "Okay sir, you may go to the locker room and shower and change. Be advised I will have to accompany you." At Liz's raised eyebrows beside him, he quickly adds "Not the shower part. I'll just need to be in the locker room." The guard ignores Liz's attempt to stifle a chuckle.

###

Fifteen minutes later Ressler is accompanied by the guard on his way back to his cell. The shower helped, as past experience told him it would. The warm water has calmed his nerves and dropped everything down a little. A change of clothes and he's feeling a little more like himself as the guard lets him back into his cell. "Thank you," he tells the guy, who nods and closes the door behind him, reopening it as Liz quickly comes in, white plastic bag in hand again.

"You look better," she smiles, as he sits on the cot in jeans and a t-shirt that's a little wet around his neck from his damp hair.

"Yeah, I drowned the ants," he says, and at her quizzical look, he shakes his head, "Never mind."

She places the food on the flat cot beside him and pats his shoulder, "I warmed up our food, and grabbed us a couple of plates," she tells him, setting out 4 white take out boxes for them. She hands him a plate and while he's not actually hungry, he still digs in, simply because she made this effort. And at the first bite of food, he realizes he hasn't eaten since breakfast, and actually is hungry.

But still he doesn't eat all that much. His body may be hungry, but his mind is back in Laurel Hitchin's home. Holding his weapon on her, positive she had a witness stashed away somewhere. Would he have shot her? The problem is, he's not quite sure what he would have done. In his right mind, he would never have shot her because she was unarmed, but he hadn't been in his right mind…

"You okay?" Liz asks, sitting across from him on the recliner in the dim light of the cell.

In answer, he just looks up, drawn from his thoughts and sighs heavily. "I'm not so sure." And a few ants who survived the deluge of the shower make their presence felt, straggling their way down his leg nerves. He rises, plate half eaten where he was sitting and walks to look out of the grate into what little he can see of the war room.

"I shot a Secret Service Agent. What if Krilov doesn't talk? I may be in here for tonight, but if this goes to a hearing, they could hold me in a real jail for a long time."

Putting her plate on the cot she approaches him, coming to stand beside him. "I think he'll talk. We may not have been able to give him full immunity, but I'm betting something can be done. Some deal with him that will be enough to get you back to work," she tells him gently, looking sideways at him.

He meets her eyes, then drops them. "I don't know if I'm ever going to get my badge back again, Liz." Shoving his hands in his pocket, he walks again, appeasing the roaming ants who are not yet ready to let his nerves lie in peace.

She turns, and as he passes her again she reaches for his arm and immediately both are taken back to when she reached and touched his hand earlier that day. Neither say anything, and she squeezes his arm, then lets him resume his walking.

No longer pacing like he needed to earlier, the walking is simply to keep the nerves busy now. And while walking, his phone rings in his jacket pocket, still over the back of the recliner. Reaching for it, he answers and hears Cooper on the other end.

"Don, I know it's late, but I wanted to give you an update and see how are you doing."

Still walking while he listens to his boss, Ressler answers, "Thank you. And I'm fine. I'm just..." he doesn't finish. He's just a lot of things right now.

"I know this is rough. So, I'm at HQ and I have a meeting in the morning to see what sort of a deal we can offer Krilov to get his side of the events, and get you out from under these charges," Cooper replies.

"Thank you, sir," Ressler replies, clutching his phone tighter than normal.

"But Don, in order for me to speak to them on even terms, in the morning we're going to have to move you to FBI Headquarters to one of their holding cells. It should just be a day or two, okay? They're going to need to talk to you for themselves, have their docs check you, and just go through their whole procedure."

Ressler sighs, looks up at Liz as he walks, sees her hopeful smile and nods into his phone. "I understand."

"We already moved Krilov from the Post Office. He's in a detention cell at Headquarters already. We're going to be talking with him starting tomorrow and get what we need to release you."

Ressler is surprised. He hadn't even heard them take Krilov. Damn drugs kept him in a deep sleep far too long. "Got it. And thank you again, sir."

"No problem. I know it's small comfort, but I believe we will get you out of this," Cooper assures him.

But Ressler doesn't answer. He's not as confident as his boss right now.

"So, try and get some rest, and I'll be there early, around 6am to get you moved."

Ressler stops in his walking and stares through the grate to the war room. Cooper will be moving him before the agents show up for the day and see one of their own in the holding cell. "Thank you. I'll be ready."

He hangs up, stands for a moment and then looks to Liz. "A few more hours in here and then I need to get ready to go to HQ for questioning." He tosses his phone to the recliner then walks a little more, hands shoved in his pocket. And suddenly he just can't think about it anymore and looks to Liz, still patiently standing there across the recliner from him.

"What happened with Gale? How did that go?"

And she smiles, knows why he's asking and then shakes her head at that memory. Lifting his phone out the way, she sits back on the recliner. "Does the man understand ANYTHING about personal space?" she laughs.

No longer feeling the need to walk right now, Ressler sits on the cot in front of her. "Oh, that's Julian all right. He has zero sense of how close is too close. We all got used to it after a while."

She leans back, settling more comfortably into the recliner. "Tell me about your task force. We've never really talked about it, and after meeting Gale, my interest is piqued."

And for the first time in hours, thoughts of Laurel Hitchin, being drugged, having his mind manipulated and being in a holding cell move to the back of his brain. "Well, we all call Julian the ghost whisperer, because he literally talks to the bodies," he tells her, "And cries. Did you notice him crying over them?" he asks, as a slight smile crosses his features.

"I wasn't sure that he was, but yes, now that you mention it!" she exclaims. "Wow, this dude is intense!"

Ressler thinks of his former colleague, who is even now most likely still at the ice rink surrounded by 86 bodies, conversing with each and every one of them. "You have no idea," he tells her, sobering. "But aside from his eccentricities, I think he could become a real thorn in our side."

And he talks of his days with the Reddington task force, with Liz listening, sharing a laugh, or commiserating with him at the loss of his colleagues. Sympathizing with him on what his time on the task force had done to his relationship with Audrey. And he's amazed at how much he's telling her, and it's not only to pass the time. But before long it's time to go and get changed into a suit again, as Cooper will be heading that way in an hour.

Liz looks at her watch. "Oh, look at the time. My sitter knows I work odd hours, but I should go and relieve her and get cleaned up myself," she says, uncurling herself from the recliner and stretching her legs. Gathering up the discarded food plates, she tosses everything in the white plastic bag to discard it.

They're standing together, not knowing how long he'll be held at FBI Headquarters, or worse, once Cooper comes for him.

And neither knows who initiates the hug. All he knows is that the next moment he's holding her close as her arms encircle him.

"It will be okay," she whispers, her cheek touching his as they cling to each other.

He's not sure who she is trying to convince. "I hope so, Liz," he answers, not willing to let her go just yet.


	11. Deal with the Devil

_And so we come to the final episode of Season 4 and it was amazing. I loved this episode with Ressler. So much happened to him, and it was such a welcome change. So I wanted to follow Ressler through this very full day._

* * *

"Donald, I need you to get away for a couple of hours. I have something that will be of great interest to you."

Ressler is surprised and almost stares into his phone. In the middle of their problems with Julian, and Mr Kaplan, and Aram being hauled in front of a grand jury, now Reddington apparently wants to go on a field trip. Okay, he'll bite.

"What do you have that could be of interest to me? You know we're busy with our own problems here, right?" he replies, sweeping his eyes around the war room through the window blind of his office.

"Donald, I assure you, this is where you need to be in the next 40 minutes. That is, if you want me to help you resolve some of those problems you speak of. I'll have Dembe text you the address."

A thought strikes Ressler. "Is this to do with Gale? Did you do...something…to him?" Ressler asks, almost dreading the answer.

There is a pause at the other end, then Reddington replies cryptically. "No, but, ultimately, yes."

Ressler swallows, staring through the blinds as Red speaks again. "Come alone."

As the line goes dead, Ressler stands a moment longer, then grabs his keys. Reddington is not one for small talk, and despite everything else going on, or because of it apparently, if Red needs him to be somewhere, then he's going. And right on cue, Dembe's text comes in with the address. He's not all that familiar with the area, but that's what GPS's are for.

Striding from his office, he catches Cooper as he's about to head up the metal stairs. "Sir, got a call from Reddington. Apparently, he has something and is requesting I be there."

Cooper halts, one hand on the stair rail, and for a moment all Ressler can hear in his head are the words  _'I speak only with Elizabeth Keen'_. How times have changed. "If Reddington needs you, then do it. See what he has for us," Cooper replies, giving Ressler an encouraging nod before continuing up the metal stairs. The unspoken words between them are that since Ressler isn't allowed in the field while on suspension, he may as well do this.

Ressler turns, spots Liz out of the corner of his eye and hopes she won't ask what's going on. Because he doesn't know what's going on, only that he's been, well, summoned. And while wondering if Red has kidnapped Julian and holding him somewhere before doing something horrible to the man, Liz steps closer.

"Going somewhere?" she asks, and he pauses on his way to the elevator.

"Yeah, gotta check on something. Should be back soon," he tells her, and hopes like hell it really will be soon, because things are more than a little crazy right now. Her eyebrows raise in question, but then she nods, not unlike Cooper had moments earlier.

"Okay, if you need anything, call me," she adds as he heads for the elevator, keys gripped in his hand as he waves his acknowledgement to her. Trepidation is filling his head, and he tries to dismiss the thoughts of Gale. Surely Reddington wouldn't take Gale out to stop him going after the task force. Would he? He would, and that's what spurs Ressler to drive a little faster than he should on his way to his destination.

And following the GPS, listening to our lady of the dash giving him instructions on where to turn, he rolls up behind Red's vehicle almost exactly 40 minutes later. Through the windshield, he can see another man, younger than Red, thinner. Red is talking with him as Ressler exits the car and approaches them. And before he can introduce himself, Red has taken over and is introducing him as Frank Sturgeon, Red's associate.

And at that, Ressler knows without a doubt, this is big. Very big. And for the moment he is relieved, somewhat feeling this isn't about Gale after all. He prepares himself mentally for what Reddington is doing though. He may not be a field agent right now, but he's still got the skills, and eyes darting around he enters the low building to be greeted by rows of 44 gallon drums in a dimly lit room. Once again, his senses are on alert, ready for anything.

But ten minutes later as he raises Reven Wright's body out of a drum filled with formaldehyde, he realizes he was not prepared for this. Not even close.

"Mother of God," he gasps, gloved hands gripping his former boss, cradling her, almost afraid to drop her back into her watery grave. Perfectly preserved, the woman looks like she's only just been put in the drum. But she's been there for well over a year.

"Congratulations, Donald. Your hunt for Reven Wright is over."

###

With Prescott's help, Ressler pulls the woman's body from her drum, then lays her flat on a tarp that Prescott has placed on the floor. She looks smaller than he remembers. Still dressed impeccably despite the formaldehyde bath, she lays as if sleeping, lit only in Reddington's flashlight. His beam lands on the red stain visible on the front of her chest, the hole in the fabric clearly visible. Shot through the heart. Her death was not instantaneous though, Ressler knows that. She lived long enough to send her message to him with her dying breath through Laurel Hitchin. "Tommy Markin."

Ressler stands slowly, leaning on the drum that had held Reven Wright for so long. He can't drag his eyes off the woman. He's found her. Or rather, Reddington did and allowed him along for the ride. His eyes flicker to the older man, almost in silhouette behind the beam of his flashlight.

"Thank you."

Reddington smiles at Ressler, and it's such a genuine smile from the criminal that for a moment Ressler is touched. He'd never have found Reven without the man.

"We need to get her out of here and to the coroner," Ressler adds, again looking down at the saturated body at his feet.

"Already underway. They should be here shortly," Red says, rising to his feet and nodding to Dembe who appears from the shadows behind Ressler. "Dembe, meet David out front and bring him in, would you?"

Ressler glances back at Reddington. He's on first name terms with the coroner? "What are you up to? You can't hide this now that we've found her. Her case was closed, and now that we have her, we need to get justice for her. I need that for her," he emphasizes, motioning to her at his feet.

"Of course you do, Donald. I understand that. David and I go way back, but I assure you he is not going to sweep this under the carpet. Our dear departed Reven deserves the very best care and respect, and he will give her that. The fact that I have a contact in the coroner's office should not come as a surprise to you. I have people everywhere, above and below the law."

Ressler's reply is silenced as Dembe returns with the coroner, a stocky man, balding in front with close cropped dark hair. Ressler steps back as David leans down to Reven Wright, then cups her forehead in his blue gloved hand as he kneels over her. Ressler hears whispering, and then realizes the man is praying for her. He glances up at Red in the dim light, who simply nods at him, reassuring him David will take good care of his former boss. And as David ends his short prayer and briefly strokes Reven Wright's short cropped hair, Ressler steps further back, giving the man room to do his job.

###

A few hours later he's back at the post office, standing with everyone, including Reddington, on the upper level near Cooper's office. After their initial shock at the news Reven had been found, the topic of conversation had turned back to the now reopened case upon discovery of her body. And that's when it all came crashing down for Ressler. He had proof, finally, with the bullet in the evidence bag in his pocket, courtesy of David during the autopsy. Proof that would put Laurel Hitchin away for a very long time for the murder of Reven Wright.

But he couldn't use it. Instead, the evidence was to be used to bribe and bargain their way out from under Gale's grand jury. Deflated, Ressler tells them how he knew Hitchin had killed Wright. That there was no doubt in his mind that she was guilty of murder.

And just when he thought his afternoon couldn't get any worse, Reddington needs him to go on another field trip. This one far more nauseating that the one he's just been on. Right into the lion's den - or lioness, in this case - to make a deal with the devil.

"You want me to go? Why?"

"Because, Donald, you need to see this through until the end. This was personal to you, and I want you to see the look in Laurel's eyes in that moment when she knows you have her. Is that too much to ask?"

Ressler catches Liz's eyes as they sit upstairs. Samar has gone to see Aram, and Cooper is on the phone in his office, and the three of them are still discussing the aftermath of finding Reven and needing to hold it over Hitchin. Liz gives him a small smile and an imperceptible nod. "He's right. You should be there."

"It's settled then." Red exclaims, ending any more discussion as he rises to his feet, donning his fedora with a flourish. "Come along, Donald."

And Ressler follows, giving Liz a glance over his shoulder before he follows Red down the metal stairs. And somewhere along the ride to Hitchin's home, he attempts to make peace with this decision. The needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. At least, that's what he tells himself, but it's not sitting well. It will never sit well, but it's what must be done. There is no other way to get out from the threat of the grand jury throwing them all in jail.

As if reading his thoughts, Red says quietly, "I know Donald, but sometimes this is the way things must be done. I'm sorry, though. I truly wish we could have been going there to arrest her."

Dembe is silent as he drives, only announcing that they are here as they pull into a long driveway of a spacious home by the river front. But Ressler doesn't need Dembe to tell him that. He's more than familiar with Laurel Hitchin's home. But not in a good way. The day just keeps getting worse.

###

"Well, if it isn't America's Most Wanted and Deputy Dawg," Hitchin intones, mocking the two men as they enter her living room. Ressler almost turns around at that, but grits his teeth and continues to follow Reddington's lead. And he admires the criminal in front of him. How the hell the man can do this day in, day out, is beyond him. Using people like players on a chess board. It's all second nature to the man, while Ressler struggles to even breathe in the presence of the woman.

And still the woman is mocking him as he glares silently at her from the wing backed chair. Temper flaring, he holds himself in check as she smiles, almost in a flirtatious way.

"Say something, Agent Ressler. You don't look well," she says, eyes flickering as she smiles at him more broadly.

He doesn't drop his gaze, knowing full well she is trying to disarm him. Their last confrontation having taken place in the next room, with him holding her at gunpoint is still too fresh in his mind. No, he hadn't been well that day. But he's in full control of his faculties right now, and as Red and Laurel continue what is almost light hearted, fun banter between them, Ressler can stand it no more.

He jumps to his feet, ready to walk out. "I can't do this," he tells them, before Red's hand is on his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

"As you can see, Laurel, Donald's upset," Red tells the woman, while patting Ressler's arm, attempting to calm him. And all joking aside, Red now launches into the reason they are here, taking the bullet from Ressler and showing Laurel. And in a few minutes, Ressler does indeed see the moment that the light goes out in Hitchin's eyes. That moment where she knows she's been cornered, and has no way out of this. And it almost offers Ressler a sliver of satisfaction, just for a moment. But it's not enough. It will never be enough.

Their business is almost concluded, much to Ressler's relief and Hitchin is talking to him again. "Boy Scouts don't give up their merit badges easily. How do I know you're gonna hold up your end?" she asks, all mocking gone from her tone now as she eyes Ressler evenly.

He meets her gaze, letting her sweat a few seconds more. "I give you my word."

Red beams beside him, clutching his fedora in front of him with both hands. "Well then, I'd say we're done here. I believe you know what your next steps need to be. A visit to a grand jury is in order. Laurel, thank you for your time. Always a pleasure."

He turns to Ressler. "Donald, shall we?" he asks, motioning to the door then turning back to Hitchin. "We'll see ourselves out. Good day to you, Laurel."

And Ressler follows the man just as silently as he had on entering the room, though the air is markedly different now. He resists the urge to turn and glance at the woman one more time.

They're back in the car before Reddington speaks again. "Well, I'd say we got what we came for."

Ressler looks across at him as they sit in the back seat. No, he didn't get what he came for, and what he needed. He didn't get justice for Reven. And in reply, Red briefly pats his arm again, understanding.


	12. Into the Grey

_So I am still following Ressler through his day in episode 4x22, what an amazing ending we got with him. (And I had thought this was the final chapter for Conversations Seasons 4, but I'm going to add one more)._

* * *

Once put in place, things move at lightning speed. Almost back to the Post Office, Dembe receives a call and hands the phone to the back seat, where Red retrieves it. It's Laurel Hitchin, who has already paid a visit to the grand jury proceedings and shut it down completely. Ressler marvels at the speed it happened, and glances at Red's satisfied smile as he hangs up.

"You see, Donald, everyone has a price."

Ressler only nods, then turns his gaze back out the window as they approach the Post Office, before pulling into the parking lot a few minutes later. Reddington doesn't come in this time, and simply bids Donald good day as he gets out the car. As they drive off, Ressler walks across to the elevator and is greeted by Cooper as he exits.

"Don, I have some good news. You've been reinstated as an Agent. I got the call minutes ago," he tells Ressler as they walk past Samar.

Ressler hadn't expected that so soon. In fact, it hadn't even crossed his mind that would be a benefit of the deal they'd just made with Hitchin. He's trying to process it when Cooper speaks again.

"As for your badge, Laurel Hitchin has it. It was handed to her the night the Secret Service arrested you at her home," Cooper offers, unsure how much Ressler remembers of that night after being drugged. "And she would like to return it to you in person. A show of good faith, I believe are the words she used."

"And she couldn't give it back to me an hour ago? I was just there," he sighs, then realizes how ungrateful that sounds. "But that's fine. I can head back out there and get it," he replies, not relishing the thought of seeing the woman again so soon.

"Would you like me to accompany you when you see her?" Cooper asks, watching Ressler carefully.

And the offer is actually tempting, but he manages a small smile and shakes his head. "No, it's fine. I'll just get the badge and leave. It won't take more than a few minutes."

But if he'd known then what was going to happen in those few minutes at Hitchin's home, he'd never have left his office.

###

They say that when tragedy occurs, it's like time stands still. Like everything plays out in slow motion, as your mind tries to process what it's seeing. But standing in Laurel Hitchin's dining room, Ressler would definitely disagree with that observation. From his standpoint, it all happened frighteningly fast. So quickly that in one split second Hitchin was gripping his arm and the next she was striking the corner of her kitchen cupboard with a sickening thud with a blood pool rapidly staining the carpet under her head.

Heart hammering in his chest, with lungs straining as he holds his breath, all Ressler can do is stand and look at the woman on the floor in front of him. It's the second time today he's had a dead woman at his feet. And the first one he'd never been more relieved to see. This second one is horrifying.

A gasp finally escapes his lungs, and sucking in another breath, he pants while staring at Hitchin. She's dead. He knows that. How the hell can she be dead?!

"Oh, God… oh, my God," he whispers. This cannot be happening. And for a moment, he hopes like hell that maybe this is another memory manipulation. Maybe he's not really in Hitchin's home at all. Maybe he's not just killed her. And maybe… and maybe he's full of it. This is not a memory manipulation. This is real and he's just killed the President's National Security Advisor.

Accidentally killed. But that point won't mean a whole lot to a jury.

"Oh, God," he whispers again. He's seen dead bodies before. He's shot people before in the name of the job. But he's never done this. Never. He's just committed murder.

Accidentally, the other half of his brain argues.

Where are her Secret Service? The thought jolts him out of his frozen state and he steps back, his body finally moving. Eyes darting around the room, as if expecting to see an entire contingent of armed men, but there is no one here. The house is silent, and the only sound is the hammering of his heart in his ears and his harsh breaths.

The blood pool is slowing, but still seeping out from her shattered skull. He can't see her eyes, but thinks he should check her. But he can't look. The blood pool alone is telling him all he needs to know. The woman is dead, and he's standing over her body. And if by some chance she was still alive, she's not long for this world, that much is certain. He steps back again, wanting to flee, but self-preservation kicks in. Cooper knows he was coming to her home tonight. To leave now would be suicide being one of the last to see her alive. He'd be tied to this forever.

The other half of his brain speaks up again, that boy scout side, telling him that it was an accident and he needs to follow through and follow protocol. It was an accident. He needs to call Cooper. He finds his phone, almost drops it in hands he didn't know where shaking, and then looks for the number. But it's not Cooper's number that he looks for. He dials the number of the one man he knows who can help.

"Donald, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Red answers amiably.

Pleasure. There is no pleasure in this. Only heart stopping horror. Head dipping, closing his eyes against the sickening sight before him, he sighs heavily.

"Donald? What's wrong?"

Everything. Everything is wrong. He finds his voice. "Reddington," he gasps. "I need your help."

Red's tone changes on the other end of the phone as Ressler grips it to his ear. "Where are you? What do you need?"

"I'm at Laurel Hitchin's house," Ressler tells him flatly. His eyes spring open again, landing on the dead woman. "And I need Prescott. I need a cleaner."

The gasp on the other end of the phone doesn't help matters. But Reddington speaks again, his tone soft. "What's happened?" Ressler is thankful the man didn't ask 'what did you do?'

"She's dead," Ressler tells him, turning away from the dead woman, head bowed as he talks to Red. "Hitchin is dead.

"How?"

"It was an accident," Ressler replies, knowing that to be true, but it's not helping.

In his ear, Red is talking with Dembe, telling him to turn the car around. "Donald, I'll take care of it. You need to leave. You need to get out there."

Ressler's throat closes as he turns to face Hitchin again. He can't reply and hangs up. He also doesn't leave, despite Red's urging. He stumbles to the couch and falls down rather than sits down as his legs give way. A shudder runs through his body and for a moment he thinks he's going to throw up. Swallowing hard, he squashes the feeling down, forcing himself to take some deep breaths. And the only thing that stops him is that he'd be leaving a whole pile of his traceable DNA all over Hitchin's carpet if he lost his stomach contents at this juncture.

He glances at his shaking hands. One holds the phone. The other holds his badge. And while his badge may not physically have blood on it, it is covered in it in his mind. He shoves it in his coat pocket, unable to look at it a second longer. Head bowed, his eyes close again. The house is silent and somewhere in the next room a clock chimes the hour with a soft melodic ring. He counts 7 chimes, then opens his eyes again and is drawn back to the dead woman on the floor. He sits, turning his view to the front, eyes seeing but not registering as thoughts tumble over themselves in his head. He's just killed someone. Just committed murder.

Accidentally, his brain reinforces.

As the clock in the other room chimes again, Ressler notices that 30 minutes have passed as he glances at his watch. The sun is setting, bringing a soft yellow glow to the darkening room through the lace curtains to his right. And he's still sitting there when he hears the front door open, and unable to rise from his position, he sits as Henry Prescott enters the room. Ressler can't even look at the man as Prescott surveys the scene, taking it all in with a practiced eye. The body on the floor, the stained carpet, the displaced chair and lost high heel shoe. He turns to Ressler.

"You should be going, Mr Sturgeon."

And it's the push Ressler needs. Without a word he stands, then walks from the room, leaving the body of Laurel Hitchin with Prescott. With his cleaner. He has a cleaner. As he exits the house, half expecting to see the law enforcement vehicles outside that had been there the night he'd been drugged, he stops a moment and observes the desolation and silence. No one is here to arrest him. His vehicle is parked down the driveway, but he doesn't see how Prescott got here. But that's the point. The cleaner was never here and hides his tracks. As he walks down the driveway, lit by the orange setting sun across the water, another car pulls into the drive and parks near his.

Ressler stops, letting Red walk toward him.

"Donald, are you alright?" the man asks, eyes searching Ressler.

And his customary "I'm fine" when asked that question doesn't come this time. He can't find those words and shakes his head. He's not alright.

"Dembe, take Agent Ressler's car to his apartment. We'll meet you there."

Ressler doesn't argue, tosses Dembe his keys and follows Reddington to his vehicle before slumping in the front passenger seat. Red slides into the driver's seat and starts the car, as he and Dembe both back out, leaving Prescott inside cleaning up. Cleaning up my mess, Ressler thinks, unable to fathom how he's in this position.

"Tell me what happened," Red says softly. Not demanding, not judging, just simply needing to know the facts.

It takes Ressler a moment. He's not sure he can say what happened yet. But as he begins haltingly, with a glance from Red, he finds the words. And explains how it happened, with Hitchin holding him back, not letting him leave, goading him and how he'd only tried to shake her hand off his arm. And how that one simple act caused her death. Red listens, nods a few times, glances at Ressler and drives silently through the evening traffic, following Dembe in front. He doesn't interrupt and lets Ressler talk.

"I don't know what to do," he tells Red, glancing toward the man as he drives.

"You've already done it, Donald. Prescott will fix this. It's what he does. He's the cool head in a crisis," Red replies, looking to Ressler as they stop at a red light. "I know that doesn't help what's going on inside you, but it's what will be done. Laurel will end up dying somewhere else."

Ressler nods. No, it doesn't help the pain in his heart. The death was an accident, but the decision to cover it up is something he's going to have to live with. And he's not sure how he's going to do that. They drive through the night and Ressler sits silently, letting Red take him home. And it doesn't even occur to him how strange that is as his focus turns inward, dwelling on the events of the day, unavoidably taking him back to the moment he killed Laurel Hitchin.

He sighs, gasps for breath and suddenly can't stop tears that roll down his cheeks. How did this happen? He's killed a woman, hired a cleaner and covered up a murder – and is being driven home by the man he hunted for years. A man he's becoming more and more like as he steps into the grey, having just taken a giant leap into that side this evening.

"It will be okay, Donald," Reddington tells him gently.

Wiping his arm across his eyes, Ressler wipes his tears away and doesn't reply as he tries to catch his breath.

Because it's never going to be okay again.


	13. Confessions

Ressler is silent the remainder of the way home, staring out the window as the city slides by. The brief tears that sprang out of nowhere are gone, leaving Ressler in a feeling of low grade panic inside. Reddington doesn't ask anything more, leaving Ressler alone with his thoughts. And doesn't speak until they pull in beside Dembe at Ressler's apartment block.

"I'm sorry this has happened, Donald. I have told you many times how much I admire your probity, and none of what has transpired this evening has swayed my view on you one iota. You're a good man, as evidenced by the manner in which these events have clearly affected you."

Ressler listens, wanting to believe Red. He  _was_  a good man. Now he's not so sure. He turns to Reddington, nods, reaches for the handle to open the car door and then turns back. "Thank you." And he's not just thanking him for his words, but for coming to his aid at a moment's notice. "Just don't tell me that one day this will be the second thing, alright?"

Red offers a small smile. "Of course not. Goodnight, Donald. And if you need anything, call me."

The offer is genuine, and Ressler knows that. Red is a man of his word. He meets the criminal's eyes in the dim light of the vehicle, and wonders once more just how alike they really are. It's not something he's comfortable with as he inches his way further into Reddington's world. "Thanks," he replies, then exits the car, taking the keys from Dembe as he walks past him.

"Have a good night, Agent Ressler," Dembe tells him quietly, then walks to Red's car to take over the driving again.

As they pull out, Ressler stands in the night air watching the car drive away down his street. There is little traffic and somewhere in the distance a cat yowls. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets, and immediately feels the soft leather of his FBI badge. As if touching fire, he yanks his hand out of that pocket, unwilling to even think about what it cost to get his badge back.

He considers going for a run at the park, but just as quickly the thought is dismissed. He's tired. Drained physically and emotionally, and even walking into his building feels like an effort. On autopilot he walks to the elevator, ascends the 4 flights then walks down the carpeted hallway to his door, unlocking it and stepping inside. It's dark, and he doesn't turn on the light after dropping his keys in the bowl. Coat still on, he makes his way to his dimly lit living room and drops onto the couch, leaning back and closing his eyes. He thought he'd be too geared up to rest, but apparently his brain has taken all it can for a while and stops the jumble of images and thoughts long enough for him drift into sleep.

And he didn't even know he'd fallen asleep until he was woken suddenly by a knock on his door, startling him awake. He looks at the wall clock. 10:20pm. The knock comes again, and he hauls himself to his feet, makes his way to the door and peers through the peephole, half expecting Red or Dembe. Or even Prescott. That thought makes his heart jump and now he's wide awake. But it's none of them as he now sees. Liz is standing outside his door.

He should just pretend he's already gone to bed. Just pretend he didn't hear her because he's not sure he can trust himself to act like everything is normal. But the other side of his brain kicks in now. Maybe Liz already knows. Maybe Red told her? He'd like to think the criminal knows when to keep quiet, having got this far in life though. On the other side of the door, Liz drops her head and turns to walk back down the hallway.

And Ressler's mind is made up for him at the thought of her coming to see him and ending up leaving. Opening the door, he steps into the hallway and she turns at the sound.

"Oh, I thought you'd gone to bed. But it looks like you're heading out," she tells him, motioning to him.

He's momentarily confused, then realizes he's still wearing his coat. He doesn't even try to explain that one, shrugging it off his shoulders and steps back inside, waving her in. She complies, thanking him as she slides in past him as he hangs his coat on a hook near the door.

"Everything okay?" he asks, getting in first before she can ask the same of him. Flipping on the lamp, bathing the living room in soft light, he walks up to her as she stands there twirling her keys on her fingers.

"Um, yeah, I just have been driving around for a bit and I kinda ended up here…" she tells him, trailing off and looking off to the side. Ressler is in luck. She apparently has something on her mind and it's looking like it doesn't involve him or the death of Laurel Hitchin.

She doesn't sit, and he glides past her to the kitchen, glad to be doing something other than thinking of himself. But thoughts of Hitchin are not so easily pushed from his mind right now, but he can at least pay attention to Liz.

"What's on your mind?" he asks, opening his fridge and then holding up one beer and one water for her to choose. She takes the water bottle, and he does the same, grabbing another bottle from the shelf. It would not pay for him to start downing beers and letting loose lips speak right now.

She doesn't answer, and her hand is suddenly on his arm as he turns back after closing the fridge. And all he can think of is Hitchin's hand on his arm and he quickly drops his arm from her reach.

"Are you okay?" she asks, searching his face.

He could tell her no, he's not, because he just killed a woman and then did a Reddington and hired a cleaner to clean up his mess. The very same cleaner who handled Hitchin's mess when he took care of Reven's body. The irony is agonizing and he looks away, attempting to walk past her to the living room, but she's blocking his path. "I'm fine. What's on your mind?"

"I know you Ress, and you're not fine."

He doesn't meet her eyes, because he can't trust himself not to blurt it out to her. "Yeah, well, it's uh, been one of those days, you know?" he manages, then does a side step to stop her looking at him.

"You got that right," she replies, exhaling heavily and taking a sip of her water. "What with losing Kate Kaplan and Baz, and all this crap with Julian Gale, and Aram being arrested, and finding Reven Wright, and then Laurel Hitchin."

Ressler stops in his tracks at the mention of the woman's name, holding his breath. And he's thankful his back is to Liz.

"How did you do it?" she asks him, and Ressler can't breathe.

"I mean, I know I encouraged you to go, but I'm not sure I could have gone in there and made that deal with her, not if I'd wanted her as badly as you did for Reven's murder," she continues, and Ressler slowly lets out the breath he's holding, then continues into the living room to drop on the couch.

"It wasn't easy," is all he can manage as she comes to sit in the recliner, curling her legs up under her as if she's at home, not visiting her partner.

"But it worked. We got the grand jury off our back and stayed out of jail. And Aram was released. We may not like the woman, but Hitchin was our only chance today."

He nods, wishing fervently she'd change the subject. So he does it for her. "Yes. And how are you, after today? Losing Kaplan had to be hard," he says softly, turning to her. He's not sure why she came at this hour, but knows that it has been an equally hard day for her. Hell, it was hard for him watching Kate Kaplan fling herself over the railing of the bridge.

"It was hard. I'm gradually losing everyone who knew me as a baby. Almost everyone who holds a piece of the history of who I am is no longer here to tell me," she sighs, repositioning herself more comfortably in her chair.

At the mention of Liz as a baby, a thought springs to Ressler's mind. Laurel Hitchin had a son. A thirteen year old boy who had his Bar Mitzvah last year. He tries to squash that thought. Thanks to him, that boy just lost his mother, and Ressler knows first hand what it's like to lose a parent.

"...so now I don't know what to do with what she told me," Liz says, and Ressler looks up, not having heard the first part of that sentence but doesn't let on.

"She said she'd tell me the truth, but then she jumped instead. I think because I got out of the car. Because I showed her I was loyal to Red." Her voice hitches, and Ressler looks up quickly at her, having been concentrating on the bubbles in his water bottle, lost in thoughts of his own. "And she killed Baz. Just like that. Shot him at point blank range…" Tears prick her eyes and she sniffs. "He didn't deserve that."

Hitchin didn't deserve it either. And Hitchin's boy definitely didn't deserve to lose his mother. He swallows at that thought, determined to concentrate on Liz. He shakes his head in agreement.

Liz leans forward and places her half empty water bottle on the table. "You know, I think that beer sounds pretty good right now," she says, and he's up, glad for the distraction. And he wasn't going to get one for himself, but as soon as he opens the fridge to retrieve hers, he grabs one for him also. He cracks open the lids, then hands her the bottle as he glides past her to resume his place on the couch. The beer slides down his throat, helping ease the constriction.

"I needed the beer because I have something to tell you, and it may not even be a surprise. I don't think it was to me, but what is surprising is how I feel about it." She looks to him, as he meets her eyes.

"What is it?" he asks, curious now. And he's hoping like hell she's about to tell him she just dumped Tom. And he doesn't even know where that came from. Well, yeah, yes he does. He's in love with her.

She pauses, takes in a large breath and then blurts it out. "Reddington is my father. It was confirmed by a DNA test, and I just went and met with him, and it's all good. Amazingly, we talked and it was all okay," she tells him in a rush.

"Oh," he replies, Tom hopes dashed. "Oh..." he repeats as the full implication of what she's just said hits him. "Wow…"

"Wow, indeed," she says, taking a large mouthful of beer. "I think a part of me always knew, but now I know for sure…"

He's nodding. He'd never given it as much thought as Liz had, but he's always thought of Red's interest in Liz as a paternal type of caring. And suddenly he's back in Laurel Hitchin's dining room, phone in hand and the one and only person he had called was Raymond Reddington. Liz's dear old dad. "Wow," he repeats, not necessarily to her. Reddington who had come at his call, organised for Prescott to show up, and then driven him home. Liz isn't the only one Red is paternal around.

"Should I say 'congratulations'?" he asks, not sure what the correct response to this revelation is.

"I don't know. 'Commiserations' might also fit. But for better or worse, he is my father. My flesh and blood." She smiles, and raises her beer in the air. "To my new found dad…" He tips his beer in response, still picturing Reddington driving him home when he'd been in no fit condition to do so himself.

"But even that wasn't the biggest thing that happened today," she says with a smile, taking a swig from her bottle.

No it wasn't. He can vouch for that. Because there is a woman lying in a pool of blood in her own living room, and he's entirely responsible for it. Or was. He's sure Prescott has cleaned up by now. He gazes at the beer bottle in his hand, watching the gold bubbles in the amber liquid, lost in them. What will Prescott do? Have her die in a car plunging into a river or over a cliff instead? How would he even get her to be in the driver's seat and have the car drive by itself? Have her house catch fire? There would be no smoke in her lungs and any coroner worth his salt would know she was dead before the fire started. Any coroner… He gasps, and doesn't see Liz look sharply at him. Reddington has a coroner in his pocket. It wouldn't matter what Prescott did, as long as David did the autopsy...

"Earth to Ressler. Calling Ressler," she says, and he suddenly looks at her at the mention of his name. "Did you even hear me? Aram kissed her right in the middle of the war room!" Her eyes narrow as she studies him. "Ress, where are you?"

He meets her eyes, briefly considers telling her but then he can't. He's just hidden a murder. How can he bring her into that? "Sorry," he tells her, forcing a small smile and barely glancing at her for fear she'll see right through him. Instead, he turns it to something she would believe, and something that is not a lie.

"It's just that I wanted to get Hitchin for Reven Wright. For what she did to her. I wanted it so bad I could taste it, Liz. I wanted it because of my dad, and what Tommy Markin did to him." He sighs and takes a sip of his beer. "But I didn't get it for her. And don't get me wrong, I know we needed to save the task force, and I honestly am glad we did that. But Reven…" He shakes his head and stops.

Placing her beer on the table, she rises smoothly from the recliner and sits beside him on the couch. "I'm sorry. I know it meant a lot to you." She pats his knee, and he's reminded of Red patting his arm while at Hitchins. "But things have a way of coming back around. I really believe that at some point, Laurel Hitchin will get her due. It might not be this year or even in ten years, but something will happen and she will go down for it."

Something  _did_  happen, and she  _did_  go down for it. And at that, he can't sit still and rises quickly, going to stand by his window taking in the view of the city lights. There is no this year or ten years time for Hitchin. There is no future in which she can be held accountable for Reven Wright's murder. Thanks to him, Laurel Hitchin has no more tomorrows. It all rushes back to him. The sickening thud as her skull hit the corner of the counter, ending her life. The dark red blood seeping out from her shattered brain, forming a puddle around her head on the floor. The horror as the realization hit him that she was dead and he was responsible. He trembles at the memory, his breath catching in his throat. And Liz is suddenly beside him, startling him from his inward view of Hitchin's demise.

There is no hiding it, despite him turning his head from her to hide the tears brimming in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I had no idea it was this hard for you, Ress."

He shakes his head, not wanting her to see, turning eyes that are threatening to overflow from her. But she does see as his tears break free to pour down his cheeks, and then her arms are around his shaking form, holding him tight. And he reciprocates, burying his wet cheek in her hair as he clings to her.

"I'm sorry, Ress," she whispers, and so is he, because she doesn't know the real reason.

"Liz," he whispers into her ear. "I…"

"It's okay," she whispers back, holding him even tighter, rubbing his back.

But it's not okay, and he can't hold it in. "She's dead, Liz," he whispers, his ragged breath catching in his throat. "Hitchin."

"What?!" she gasps, and he feels the jolt in her as he clings to her, holding her tightly to him. Because he needs her this close, if he's to tell her. And if he doesn't say it now, he never will. And he needs to say it.

"I killed her," he whispers, and his tears flow more freely as he feels and hears her gasp in his ear. "It was an accident!"

"Ress!" her voice breaks with her own tears now.

"I didn't mean for it to...to happen," he tells her, his breath heaving, feeling her hands resuming their rubbing on his back. "She just… and I…"

Understanding that he needs her this close, she holds onto his trembling body. "I know that. I know you." And she's sobbing at his confession. "You don't kill people in cold blood, Ress. I know that," she whispers as they cling to each other.

He might not kill them in cold blood, but an accidental death has the same result. Laurel Hitchin died at his hand. He moves his head back off from her, still holding her close, as she lifts her head and searches his tear stained face and red eyes. "I called Reddington. He had Prescott come."

Her hand cups his cheek, rubbing her thumb against him. "Oh, Ress..." He sees the moment the full implication of what he did hits her. "The fixer…" she whispers.

"Yes," he nods, still shaking in her arms. "I hired a cleaner. Just like Reddington."

"You're not like him, understand?" she tells him softly, tears spilling from her eyes again. "You're not. Believe me on that." She cups his other cheek with her hand, wiping his tears. "This is how I know you're not like him and you never will be."

"I don't know how to do this, Liz," he whispers, feeling her soft fingers on his wet cheeks.

"I'll help you," she whispers, gazing up at him.

She's so close to him as he meets her eyes, and he sees the moment the look in her eyes changes. Like the light in them brightens. And he almost pulls back, but it's not her arms that hold him, but her tear stained blue eyes. Eyes that close as she moves upward. And his own eyes close as he meets her. And their lips touch, hesitantly at first, and then with more force as her hands move to the back of his head, holding him to her mouth as his arms wrap more tightly around her.

She's warm and soft and close to him. And the boy scout in him tells him he should stop, but he can't. He loves her, and kisses her more fervently, letting his tongue enter her mouth as she welcomes him in. And he's lost in the taste of her, and the feel of her, and the comfort she gives. And he needs her. He wants her as his body betrays that need, close against her. He whispers to her as he takes a breath, "I love you," he confesses, before he meets her lips again, and her hands are all over him.

They break apart as if on a silent, unspoken cue. She's holding his cheeks again. His eyes are boring into hers. "It will be okay," she whispers, barely finding her voice. Her hand slides to his and holds it, her fingers intertwining with his. "And it's about time," she says softly, smiling as she cups his cheek with her other hand.

"Liz, are you sure?" he asks, hungry for her, but willing to stop if she's not ready. And she nods, leaning up to kiss him again. And as she's kissing him he lifts her and holds her close in his arms and carries her to his bedroom.

* * *

_So this chapter is where I'd love to see Season 5 open. I need Keenler, and would love it if something like this were to happen during the next season. We Keenlers have waited long enough! And if/when I do Conversations Season 5, it may be less canon than this year. Thank you for everyone who took the time to read. I know I wasn't as good at updating it this past season, but we've had less and less Keenler to work with onscreen! Thanks for the reviews and the comments :-)_

_Jeanette_


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